Char looked at her typist blankly for an instant, and then recovered herself, unsmiling. "Yes. This letter is to the Town Hall Hospital, and I wish you'd remember, Miss Collins, to--" "I haven't got used to it meself yet," Mrs. Baker-Bridges said coyly. "A double name, too, so I suppose it's harder to remember." "Will you make me three copies of this, please?" "Yes, Miss Vivian." Char dictated her letter very briskly, and avoided the use of her stenographer's name, not wishing to submit to further correction. It did not add to her complacency, during the busy days before Christmas, when her instructions were received with an affronted giggle and "Mrs. Baker-Bridges, _please_, Miss Vivian!" Char was in rooms now, with the devoted Preston in attendance and occasional visits from Miss Bruce. She was working very hard, and the Christmas festivities indulged in by the Questerham Hospitals frequently required her presence as guest of honour. Char still retained a vivid recollection of finding herself next to Dr. Prince on one of these occasions, both of them required to join in a rousing chorus of which the refrain was "All jolly comrades we!" And the look which the doctor, singing lustily, had turned upon her, held a humorousness that Char felt no disposition to reflect in her own gaze. She was quite aware that neither of them had forgotten the doctor's peroration delivered on the night of her decision to leave Plessing, and the recollection of it still, almost unconsciously, coloured all her official dealings with him. It was therefore with surprise that she received an announcement from Miss Jones one evening: "Dr. Prince is downstairs and wants to see you for a moment." "At this hour? Quite impossible! It's nearly seven, and I have innumerable letters to sign." Grace hesitated, and then said, very gently: "I think he's just come from Plessing." Char glanced at her sharply. "Ask him to come up, then." Sudden apprehension had taken possession of her, and increased at the sight of the doctor's kind bearded face, with its lines of fatigue and anxiety. "What is it, Dr. Prince?" "Could you spare me a few moments?" "Certainly. Miss Jones, will you--" Char, glancing round, saw with a slight feeling of annoyance that Miss Jones had not waited to be dismissed. Char did not relish being perpetually disconcerted by the independence of her junior secretary. "A nice girl, that," said the doctor benevolently. Char looked utterly unresponsive, and supposed rather indignantly to herself that Dr. Prince had not come to the office at the end of a long day's work merely in order to tell her that Miss Jones was a nice girl.