ABOUT SIX months later, when the excitement over _The Cup of Life_ had
subsided and Driffield had already begun the novel which he published
under the name of _By Their Fruits_, I, being then an impatient dresser
and in my fourth year, in the course of my duties went one day into the
main hall of the hospital to await the surgeon whom I was accompanying
on his round of the wards. I glanced at the rack in which letters were
placed, for sometimes people, not knowing my address in Vincent Square,
wrote to me at the hospital. I was surprised to find a telegram for me.
It ran as follows:
_Please come and see me at five o’clock this afternoon without
fail. Important._