O'Reilly liked this girl. He had liked her the instant she favored him with her friendly smile, and so, trusting fatuously to his masculine powers of observation, he tried to analyze her. He could not guess her age, for an expensive ladies' tailor can baffle the most discriminating eye. Certainly, however, she was not too old--he had an idea that she would tell him her exact age if he asked her. While he could not call her beautiful, she was something immensely better--she was alive, human, interesting, and interested. The fact that she did not take her "mission" over-seriously proved that she was also sensible beyond most women. Yes, that was it, Norine Evans was a perfectly sensible, unspoiled young person, who showed the admirable effects of clean living and clean thinking coupled with a normal, sturdy constitution. O'Reilly told himself that here was a girl who could pour tea, nurse a sick man, or throw a baseball. And she was as good as her promise. She did not interrupt when, during dinner, Alvarado led Johnnie to talk about his latest experience in Cuba, but, on the contrary, her unflagging interest induced O'Reilly to address his talk more often to her than to the doctor. He soon discovered that she understood the Cuban situation as well as or better than he, and that her sympathies were keen. When she did speak it was to ask intelligent questions, some of which, by the way, it taxed O'Reilly's wits to answer satisfactorily. Heretofore, Johnnie had looked upon the war primarily as an unfortunate condition of affairs which had played the mischief with his own personal fortunes; he had not allowed himself to be very deeply affected by the rights or the wrongs of either party. But Norine Evans took a much deeper and broader view of the matter. She was genuinely moved by the gallant struggle of the Cuban people, and when the dinner was over she exploded a surprise which left both men speechless. "This settles it with me," she announced. "I'm going down there." Alvarado stared at her for a moment. "My dear--" he began. But she warned him: "Don't argue with me. You know I detest arguments. I've been thinking about it for some time, and--" "It is quite impossible," the doctor declared, firmly; and O'Reilly agreed. "Of course you could go to Havana," said the latter, "but you wouldn't be allowed to see anything." "I'm going right to the Insurrectos with you." "WITH ME!" O'Reilly could not conceal his lack of enthusiasm. "I don't know that the Junta will take me." "They will if I ask them." Alvarado inquired, "What ever put such a ridiculous idea into your head?" The girl laughed. "It's the only kind of ideas I have. But there are ten thousand reasons why I want to go. In the first place, I fairly itch to give pills. You say the rebels have no hospitals, no nurses--" "We do the best we can, with our equipment." "Well, I'll supply better equipment, and I'll handle it myself. I'm in earnest. You sha'n't stop me."