Free Australian Hospital by Joyce Dingwell Page B

only stop-gaps.”
    She got up with a yawn.
    “However,” she drawled, reaching the door, “all that is over now, of course—”
    By the afternoon’s mail came a letter from the subject of Eve’s discussion. Rosemary wrote from Bibaringa, her bright personality finding outlet in breezy words.
    “... Here we are again in the Bush. I was quite excited at first, but now it’s worn off me. Sheep, how I hate the woolly things. They may represent pounds, shillings and pence, as you once righteously reminded me, but somehow I still can’t raise any enthusiasm.
    “... Mummy and I are coming up to shop in a fortnight, so, of course, you must come and stop with us.”
    Another page accounting for herself, and then best wishes and Rosemary’s signature.
    There was a P.S. It said: “Have you heard from either Stephen or John?”
    Candace noticed that Stephen’s name came first. She wondered what Rosemary’s reactions would be when she learned that her friend was working under Doctor Halliday.
    Then she recalled Eve, and the suppressed venom in her voice as she inquired, “Did you see her? A girl called Rosemary Tilburn?”
    Poor little Rosemary, she thought, what hope would she have against a woman of Eve’s experience and determination?
    What hope would she herself, Candace Jamieson, have?
    The implication of the thought that had just struck her came to Candace in an engulfing wave.
    “I’m mad—mad to think of such a thing. I not only dislike Stephen Halliday, he’s—he’s repulsive to me.”
    But he wasn’t. As she sat beside the window, the letter on her lap, looking down on the thicket of camphor, it came strongly, starkly, distastefully but inescapably to Candace that already something had started within her that indubitably would have been better not to have begun.
    Three things happened in the fortnight that followed.
    Worried about the accounts. Matron paid a flying visit to Manathunka, then returned to the sister with whom she was spending her vacation; Claire Flett became Mrs. Arthur Maclnnes; Rosemary Tilburn and her mother came from Bibaringa, and Candace went out one night and stayed with them.
    Matron was the first excitement. She arrived at ten o’clock one morning, and by five-past was sitting at her desk adding up the grocery bill.
    “Washing powder risen twopence-halfpenny! Sister Arnold, have you checked this with Mr. Watts?”
    Sister said miserably that she had.
    Between the electric light account and the bill for the repairs to the furnace, Candace was introduced.
    “Welcome to Manathunka, Sister Jamieson. Sister, I see a sign of wear on your left cuff. Perhaps you could put needle and thread to it. I don’t want it to go further than it has to because I don’t know where we’ll get our next.”
    “Is Manathunka that poor, Matron?”
    “Well—” For a moment Matron was floored.
    “When the previous matron handed me over the keys,” she said presently, “she handed me over the books at the same time, and advised, ‘If you keep your bills down to this level, you won’t go far wrong.’ ”
    “But Matron, that was in different times. Things were cheaper then.”
    “I know, that’s what makes it so hard now.”
    Candace looked at her in amazement, then her face softened. She thought that what Claire had said of Matron was probably true. Ostensibly she was stodgy, but her heart would be in the right place if only you could reach it.
    She had hoped to bring up the therapy matter with Matron, but with an electric light bill three pounds ten shillings larger than last quarter, she did not think it was the right moment.
    She believed that Matron was the right woman in her job, so long as her position only entailed the practical side of the hospital regime. Something told her, too, that Matron would not have minded concentrating only on figures—
    Matron waited until the next day for Claire’s wedding, then departed once more.
    Sister Arnold was on duty so did not attend. Sister