Free Doctor's Assistant by Celine Conway Page B

Don’t be so damned naive!”
    She laughed and cocked a brow. “What’s so naive about it?”
    “The boundless zeal, the infinite capacity for good works, the strange notion that you’re the first person to think along certain lines.” He set down his glass with a thud. “Does Ben allow you to talk as if you had the wisdom of Solomon?”
    “He doesn’t shout me down as you do. Sometimes—even when you’re nice—you’re a bit of a beast, Charles.”
    “A nice beast,” he agreed with her, kindly. “How about a day out on Saturday?”
    Her fingers tightened slightly about the glass she held and a glow came into her eyes. “I’d love it. On the boat?”
    “The yacht,” he automatically corrected her, as Mr. Kelsey was apt to. “I’ll introduce you to the old chief I told you about.”
    “Could we take my father?”
    “We could”—non-committally—“but I haven’t asked him yet, so we needn’t. Please yourself.” When she made no comment he ended, “Very well, we’ll go alone.”
    “What about the polo?”
    “We’ll play deck-tennis instead. All right?”
    “All right,” she said on a gently expelled breath.
    Her heart beat faster but she did not question why. Nor could she any longer look straight at Charles. She knew that he was watching her satirically, and she had the uneasy conviction that he enjoyed his power over her. It was aggravating to know that her reactions were so apparent to him; had he been a different sort of man she wouldn’t have cared. But had he been a different sort of man he would probably have had little effect upon her pulses.
    She emptied her glass and stood up. “I have to wash away the day’s dust, but I’ll slip in to see my father first.”
    “He’s having a pipe with Uncle Gilbert in the library.”
    “Is he?” She paused. “Then maybe I’d better change.”
    “Wear the pink thing that stands out on the shoulders,” he said carelessly. “It suits your tan.”
    That, thought Laurette as she marched along the corridor, was going somewhat too far, even for Charles. She would wear the green with long sleeves, and when he, grinned at her defiance, as he was bound to, she would grin back. There was fun, threaded with excitement, in defying Mr. Heron.
    The following afternoon John Delaney displayed the pen-and-ink drawings he had done for Charles. There were eight of them so far, sketches of native huts with the inevitable black pot smoking outside over a fire of twigs, and people enjoying their leisure in lazy native fashion; of piccanins showing awed interest in a steel plough; of trek-oxen being led by a stalwart black farmer; of African women exchanging jokes while they gathered kaffir corn and mealies.
    The truly humorous drawings had been left till last. One could not use the cartoon technique in a book which had a serious underlying purpose, and any other type of humor was difficult to convey.
    “Charles has given me a few captions to work to. They’ll come out, in time,” he said confidently, “but I shan’t get them finished before he leaves for Basutoland. He’s suggested my going up there for a spell as soon as I can get around.”
    “To Mohpeng?” Laurette was startled. “Did you tell him you would?”
    “I said I might. As distance goes in fills country its not far, and by the time I can walk and drive I shall be glad of a change of scenery. However, that’s some weeks ahead. By the way, we had a new arrival in Port Quentin yesterday—a woman who says she’s Ben Vaughan’s cousin. She’s staying at the hotel. Did he mention her to you?”
    “No. After the day at the mission he’s been up to his eyebrows in work. What sort of woman is she?”
    The Captain shrugged. “The news came to me through old Palmer; he walked up to see me. According to him—and he’s an observant old chap—she’s thirtyish and well-off. She comes from England and she braved the roads from Durban in a newly-bought car to see Ben, who’s her only