Juggernaut

								

deep-set, bilious in tinge, and as she looked into them she received
the impression of a great inner concentration of energy.
"You are American, I see."
"Well, Canadian, as a matter of fact.  I trained in New York."
"A nurse, then.  Where did you train?"
"St. Luke's."
She thought this made a good impression.
He made a chary movement of his hand towards a chair and at the same
time sank into a fragile fauteuil, which creaked with his weight.  He
sighed, obviously bored with the prospect of the interview.
"What are you doing in France?"
"I came here as companion to a patient of mine who hates travelling
alone.  We stopped a week in Paris; then I brought her here, where she
met some friends with whom she went on to Algeria.  It was arranged
beforehand.  I was only to come as far as Cannes.  I've been here a
week now, and I was going back to New York, only----"
"Well?"
Esther smiled with the complete frankness which was one of her greatest
assets.
"Well, doctor, I've never been abroad before, and I may never come
again.  It seems so stupid, having come so far, not to stay more than
two weeks.  I love it here.  Only in order to stay I must get some
work; I can't afford to be idle."
He seemed to find this reasonable, though not interesting, glancing
away from her in a bored fashion.
"I see.  Now about this place.  What I want is a nurse who will be in
attendance here from nine in the morning till six in the afternoon;
someone thoroughly responsible, who will make appointments, do a little
secretarial work, answer the telephone, and, of course, assist when
there are examinations.  The usual thing."
"Yes, doctor, I understand."
"Can you typewrite?"
"A little.  I'll improve with practice."
"Know French?"
"Not too well, but I mean to study."
"It's of no great consequence, most of my patients are English.  How
old are you?"
It was a medical, impersonal question.  He might have been inquiring
the age of her grandmother in Manitoba.
"I'm nearly twenty-six."
"You look younger, but no one can tell these days.  Now as to
references.  What can you show me?"
"I have brought my certificate from the hospital, and I have my
passport, of course----"
"Let me see them."
He examined both, not omitting to look at the libellous photograph on
the passport.
"Still, these are not really sufficient, Miss--Miss Rowe.  They tell me
nothing of your reputation, your character."
"I'd thought of that," she replied quickly.  "I've got a letter written
by Miss Ferriss, the patient I came with.  She's known me several
years."
"Ah!  And how am I to know you didn't write the letter yourself?"
She was on firm ground now.
"I thought of that, too.  I got her to write it in the presence of the
manager of the Carlton Hotel and deposit it with him.  You can ask him
to show it to you."
He raised his brows slightly, seeming to admit, though with a bad