“I suppose,” she said slowly, “that, according to the standardized procedure, I ought to say, ‘What right have you to ask me that?’ But you have the right--I suppose. Anyway, I consider it a fair question, and I’ll answer it as fairly. He did, and I did. But--but how did you know, Doctor?” The doctor’s laugh was brief and bitter. “When you two returned to camp,” he informed her, “the announcement couldn’t have been plainer if you had pinned placards on your breasts. I knew what had happened. So did Mary Temple.” “Well?”--almost defiantly. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be said. Theoretically I should back gracefully away, murmuring my congratulations. But I’ll not do that. I don’t give up so easily, Charmian. I am convinced that you and I are mated, and that you and Andy are not. I think that it would be a great misfortune for both of us if we don’t become man and wife. But I’ll play the game fair and square--with both you and Andy. And this desire to play square is what has kept my mouth closed on so many occasions. I won’t tell you why I think it unwise for you to marry Andy Jerome. On the contrary, I’ll go out and leave you two here together and make every effort to get back with more medicine before you can learn for yourself that I am the man you should have for a husband instead of him. It’s hard, Charmian--hard to play square, when I hold my rival’s future in the hollow of my hand. But the ethics of my profession demand that I do all in my power to save him, and my conscience demands the same. “So to-morrow I must leave you, hoping that I can get back in time. There is no other way. I’ll make it back to Mary and Andy, and send Andy on here. With the aid of a compass and the directions that I can give him he will never miss the pass into the valley. You must hoist a garment or a blanket on a pole, which he will be able to see from the top of the wall and all the way down. Or a smudge of damp leaves will send up a stream of smoke to direct him to you.