fer overmuch.

"I'm not a doctor-run machine," she had said, in her brisk, blunt way.
"I'll give you _what_ I think best, _when_ I think best. If Doctor
Bellamy don't like it, he can chuck me. But he won't. He knows I've had
experience and he hasn't. 'Tisn't likely _he'll_ fuss with me, when men
like Doctor Carfew and Doctor Playfair have trusted me and been
satisfied with my work. Just you be a good sport, and keep straight with
me. And I'll not let you reach the hell point. Just a peep of purgatory,
maybe--for the salvation of your soul. But you're plucky. You'll stand a
bit of purgatory to get to paradise--health is really paradise, you
know. Eh?" She had wound up, with that engaging, little-girl smile of
hers.

Chesney grinned rather feebly, and said:

"All right, Bush-Ranger. '_En voiture, pour le purgatoire, messieurs,
mesdames._'"

"That's good!" Anne said heartily. "I always know they're mending when
they crack jokes."

"You've a hard nut to crack in _me_, colonial snippet!" retorted
Chesney, with another grin.

Anne grinned a cheerful little grin back at him.

"No, _you're_ soft enough, old sport," said she; "it's your husk of
morphia that's hard."

They exchanged this rough, free speech when alone. In the presence of
others, Anne was most respectful, almost demure.

"What a hypocritical little demi-semi-savage you are, Bush-lass," he
said to her one day. "You give me the rough of your tongue like a slangy
lad when we're '_enfin seul_'--and before the Chief Eunuch and the
rest, butter would congeal upon it, by Gad!"

"There's a time for everything," replied Anne Harding sedately. "If you
_prefer_ it, sir, I'll be buttery with _you_ from this moment."

Chesney laughed outright. He was feeling quite happy just then, under
the effects of a sixth of morphia.

"Just you try it on," he said, with feigned grimness. When she had just
given him the drug he really liked her. Her funny, brisk little ways and
speech amused him. He longed sometimes to romp with her, as if she had
been the child that she looked when her elfish smile stirred her face.
Once when she had bent over him as she withdrew the needle from his arm,
he had tweaked one of the black curls that hung near. He had not
believed that her little lean hand could give such a stinging smack as
she bestowed upon his.

"You little spitfire!" he had exclaimed angrily. "Don't dare to take
liberties with me because I'm ill."

"Don't _you_ dare to ta