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 him of their complete satisfaction with the surgical treatment they had received. Indeed the word, they said, was out in all the trenches that the Women's Hospital was the place to get to when a man was wounded. Women surgeons took more pains, they were less hasty about cutting off arms and legs, you see. Oh, the Women's Hospital was all right.

"Extraordinary, most extraordinary," murmured Sir Alfred Keogh. And this report he carried back to the General Medical Council. "Incredible as it may seem, gentlemen," he announced gravely, "it seems to be so."

"It appears then," brusquely decided Kitchener, "that these women surgeons are too good to be wasted on France." And promptly their country and the War Office invited them to London. It was England's crack regiment after the great drive on the Somme that was tucked under the covers for repairs at Endel Street. The issue was no longer in doubt. "Major" Anderson and the Women's Hospital Corps held the fort for the professional woman's cause in England.

Dr. Nicole Gerard-Mangan, fascinating little French feminist, meanwhile was executing a brilliant coup in demonstration to her government. France, it was true, had seen that British women could be military doctors and surgeons. But the French woman doctor, oh, every one was sure that the French