I am not.'
Taking this in officiously, the man once more addressed him, offering
his hand, which Kalus did not take. But he persisted. 'I'm Paul
McIntyre, flight surgeon..... I'm a doctor, son. Won't you let
me help your friend?'
But for all his relief and desire to yield, Kalus found it hard to let
another man touch her, even in this simple way. Again the young woman
interceded. She laid a soft and delicate hand on his, and looked him
full in the face with brilliant, almond eyes, drawn to a gentle point at
each corner.
'It's all right,' she said. 'You're among friends.
Won't you let us help you?' Her voice and manner were so alluring
that for a moment he forgot all else. He looked down at Sylviana, half
ashamed of what the Oriental had aroused in him, and said quietly.
'So long as you are gentle. I think she just needs rest.'
The doctor was already at work, lifting her off the hard roots to lean
back against his thighs. Then reaching inside a black bag that he had
brought, he broke open a pouch of smelling salts and moved it back and
forth under her nose. Her head stirred, then turned away in distaste.
She regained full consciousness to find herself lying, literally, in the
strange older man's lap. Forgetting that this was what her mind had
sought, she cried out instinctively.
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