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have more than enough to put up with already, submitting to our exhaustive clinical tests, without having additional and unnecessary strains imposed on them just to save the resident's time." One eyebrow was raised quizzically. "There's a big difference between a prick in the finger with a hagedorn needle and a stab in an arm vein with a wide-bored syringe. Do I make myself clear?
    "Yes, sir." Lesley shifted uneasily.
    "Besides, you'll learn less from sending specimens to the lab than you will by carrying out the tests for yourself. Anaemias and heart cases need a full blood examination once a week. Those requiring blood sedimentation rates are indicated on the ward chart. I expect all the previous day's admissions written up before I arrive in the morning." He turned. "Have you my specimen case sheet, Sister?"
    Angela Bishop carefully unlocked the top right-hand drawer of her desk and produced the form.
    "This way I can see the main points at a glance. Get into the habit of adopting a standard procedure for eliciting each patient's symptoms and signs. That way you won't miss anything even when you're tired." He handed the form to Lesley and she recognised the large, bold handwriting, its down strokes uniformly firm and even. It had often adorned her examination scripts in the old days.
    "You will be responsible for taking my notes and adding them to the case sheets after each visit," he continued. "I've done them myself today so that you can see how I like them entered. From now on I'll dictate them to you at the bedside as I examine the patients. When you've mastered the form, return it to Sister."
    He smiled, and Lesley felt ashamed of her earlier irritation. After all, she'd always known he was difficult to please. He worked his staff hard, but no harder than he worked himself. And he had been extraordinarily painstaking with her this morning, spending much longer than he need have done presenting the details of each patient and explaining why he wanted the various clinical tests carried out. At first a bit of her mind had been on the alert for Dayborough's arrival, not sure how he would react when he joined them. After a time she'd become so engrossed in the work that she'd forgotten to wonder why he'd failed to put in an appearance at all.
    Sir Charles was rising and Sister bustled for his coat. Lesley could see the Forsyth label as the beautifully soft Orkney tweed was held out to him.
    "It'll take a few days for you to settle into the routine, Doctor. I'll let you know of any other points as we go along." He took his scarf from the wall rack. "You'd better do a paracentesis on Mrs. Brent this afternoon. I don't think we should leave it much longer. She's now in considerable discomfort."
    Lesley's heart missed a beat. A paracentesis! After treating her all morning as though she'd never learned anything he now seemed to take it for granted that she'd know what to do. The trouble was she'd never seen a paracentesis, let alone done one on her own before. She pulled herself together. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.
    He was holding the door for Sister to precede him. They walked in state to the end of the ward corridor. As befitted her status as resident, Lesley brought up the rear. Not for the first time she found herself thinking that a woman doctor in a short white coat was no match in femininity for a nursing Sister in a flowing white gown with a wisp of broderie anglaise on her hair.
    Where the ward unit ended he stopped and shook hands with Sister, formally thanking her and saying good morning. He walked on quickly. In spite of the limp Lesley was forced to quicken her step to catch up with him. Hospital protocol demanded that a houseman saw the Chief to his car.
    There was a moment of confusion when they reached the outer door. She was about to open it, but he forestalled her.
    "Don't bother to come out, Doctor. It's cold for the time of year. Till tomorrow, then. Good morning."
    She was a little