She introduced herself, and Philip was most polite.
"My father sent me----" she began.
"I ought to have waited on the President," he said, seeing that she
hesitated, "but several of my men are wounded, and we have so few
doctors."
She smiled, and Carmela could redeem much of her plainness of feature
by the singular charm of her smile.
"Dom Corria is a good doctor himself," she said.
"His skill will be much appreciated in Brazil at the present moment,"
said he, rather bewildered.
"He mends broken hearts," she persisted.
"Ah, a healer, indeed!" but he frowned a little.
"He is in demand to-day. He asked me to tell you of one most
successful operation. The--er--the engagement between Miss Iris
Yorke--is that the name?--and Mr.--Mr.--dear me----"
"Bulmer," scowled Philip, a block of ice in the warm air of Brazil.
"Yes, that is it--well--it is ended. She is free--for a little while."
There was a curious bleaching of Philip's weather-tanned face. It
touched a chord in Carmela's impulsive nature.
"It is all right," she nodded. "You can go to her."
She left him there, more shaken than he had ever been by thunderous sea
or screaming bullet.
"They are cold, these English," she communed, as she passed up the
slope to the house.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353