The Little Dragon. Бетти Нилс

talking pleasantly about nothing much while her mind was busy working out calories and units of insulin. Mrs Dowling was sulking now and frightened, which had the effect of making her even more unpleasant than usual.

      Neither of them heard the doorbell. Nel opened the door with something of a flourish and ushered in Doctor van der Giessen. His good evening was nicely professional and he added: ‘Doctor Sperling’s wife telephoned me; he asked me to cover for him if he shouldn’t be available. What’s the trouble?’ He addressed himself to Constantia, and although his manner was pleasant enough she could sense his reserve.

      ‘Mrs Dowling has eaten some chocolates. I don’t know exactly how many—about three or four ounces, I should suppose. There’s an orange reaction and ketones—I thought that Doctor Sperling should be told.’

      ‘Quite right, Nurse. Pulse? Nausea, vomiting?’

      ‘Nausea, nothing else.’

      ‘In that case, perhaps I might take a look at your tongue, Mrs Dowling?’

      He examined her carefully, cheerfully ignoring her peevish demands for Doctor Sperling, and when he had finished he wrote up her chart and handed it to Constantia. ‘That should take care of everything, I fancy. Give the insulin straight away, will you? And a further dose after two hours, according to the sugar level.’ He went to his bag and took out a syringe and a small glass tube which Constantia took from him. Mrs Dowling moaned and cried and he soothed her like a small child as he took the blood he needed for a blood sugar test, assured her that she would be quite all right in no time at all, and prepared to leave.

      ‘You can’t leave me, I’m in danger,’ declared Mrs Dowling.

      ‘Not any more, Mrs Dowling, and Nurse Morley knows exactly what to do.’

      ‘I insist on you staying!’

      ‘I’m taking evening surgery,’ he explained mildly. ‘If you were in the least danger, I would remain. If Nurse Morley is worried she can contact me at once.’ He said good evening in a calm unhurried manner and went to the door, saying to Constantia as he went: ‘Let me know the result of the tests as you do them, will you? Supper as I suggest on the chart—the insulin is adjusted. Doctor Sperling won’t be back until very late, but I’ll give him the facts.’