Presently she opened her eyes. They blinked to consciousness as she realized where she was, then focused to new astonishment at the sight of him; while her mouth, trying the German words before she spoke, twisted into a half-smile.

“You? I must be dreaming! How can it be you — here?”

And he answered, with the foolishness of sheer simplicity: “I come here every Friday.”

“Der kleine doktor am jeden Freitagl”

He sat beside her, rebandaging the wrist, trying to think of German words.

“You must take care. This is bad … Am I hurting you now?”

“Only a little.”

“You should have rested — I told you that …”

“I couldn’t.”

“You mean you danced with your wrist in this condition?”

“Yes — until to-night.”

“But it must have been terribly painful — the vibration —”

“It was driving me mad.”

“But, my dear girl — why on earth — why — was that why — you tried to —”

She shook her head.

“Then why?”

“Just — that there was nothing else.”

“Nichts anders?”

“Nothing except night after night — like this.”

“Couldn’t you go back to your own country?”

She shook her head again.

“You have no parents there — no relatives — no friends?”

“No one.”

“Is that why you are unhappy?”

All at once tears began to roll down her cheeks, streaking the grease paint; she did not make a sound, and there was no movement but that of the tears. Neither did David move, but his stillness and silence had compassion.

After a pause she smiled. He asked the reason and took to his heart a schoolboy translation of her answer: “Because I am so glad you didn’t tell me not to cry … and I knew you wouldn’t …”

A doctor is so familiar with most of the things that can happen to minds and bodies that little can startle him. He learns to divide his effort into separate compartments, so that while attending to one patient he does not think of the last or of the next. Moreover, he can leave the operating table or the bedside, switching off his attention, as it were, whenever he feels he has done all he can; and this judgment he can reach unfettered, since there are others to humanize it after he has gone.

Little of which applied to David’s position in a girl’s dressing room at the back of the pavilion on Sandmouth Pier. He did not know what more he could do, yet he did not feel he could say good-night and leave her. There was much he could have explained but for the language obstacle, at least an ease he could have given to the leave-taking. And while he was thus hesitating and wondering, a man arrived with an envelope which the girl opened; it contained a week’s wages and notice of summary dismissal. She showed it, smiling wryly as she did so; then, with a shrug, she began to change out of her costume into ordinary clothes. She had no shyness.