"
"But this is second sight!" I cried, drawing away. "Do you pretend to
prevision?"
"No, not second sight; nothing uncanny, nothing supernatural. But
prevision, yes; prevision based, not on omens or auguries, but on solid
fact--on what I have seen and noticed."
"Explain yourself, oh, prophetess!"
She let the point of her parasol make a curved trail on the gravel,
and followed its serpentine wavings with her eyes. "You know our house
surgeon?" she asked at last, looking up of a sudden.
"What, Travers? Oh, intimately."
"Then come to my ward and see. After you have seen, you will perhaps
believe me."
Nothing that I could say would get any further explanation out of her
just then. "You would laugh at me if I told you," she persisted; "you
won't laugh when you have seen it."
We walked on in silence as far as Hyde Park Corner. There my Sphinx
tripped lightly up the steps of St. George's Hospital. "Get Mr.
Travers's leave," she said, with a nod, and a bright smile, "to visit
Nurse Wade's ward. Then come up to me there in five minutes."
I explained to my friend the house surgeon that I wished to see certain
cases in the accident ward of which I had heard; he smiled a restrained
smile--"Nurse Wade, no doubt!" but, of course, gave me permission to
go up and look at them.
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