I fielded questions for a quarter of an hour and was on my way out of the lecture hall when a young woman stopped me. I recognized her as one of the frequent questioners, thought I’d seen her somewhere else as well.

“Dr. Delaware? Eileen Wagner.”

She had a pleasant full face under cropped chestnut hair. Good features, bottom-heavy figure, a slight squint. Her white blouse was mannish and buttoned to the neck; her skirt, knee-length tweed over sensible shoes. She carried a black Gladstone bag that looked brand-new. I remembered where I’d seen her before: last year’s House Staff Roster. Third-year resident. M.D. from one of the Ivy League schools.

I said, “Dr. Wagner.”

We shook hands. Hers was soft and stubby, bare of jewelry.

She said, “You gave a lecture on fears to the Four West staff last year, when I was PL-three. I thought it was quite good.”

“Thank you.”

“I enjoyed today, too. And I’ve got a referral for you, if you’re interested.”

“Sure.”

She shifted the Gladstone bag to another hand. “I’m in practice now, out in Pasadena, have privileges at Cathcart Memorial. But the kid I have in mind isn’t one of my regular patients, just a phone-in through Cathcart’s help line. They didn’t know how to handle it and sent it over to me because I’m listed as having an interest in behavioral pediatrics. When I heard what the problem was, I remembered last year’s talk and thought it would be right up your alley. Then, when I read the Grand Rounds schedule, I thought: perfect.”

“I’d be glad to help, but my office is on the other side of town.”

“No matter. They’ll come to you- they have the means. I know because I went out a few days ago to see her- it’s a little girl we’re talking about. Seven years old. Actually I came here this morning because of her. Hoping to learn something that could help me help her. But after listening to you it’s clear her problems go beyond office management. She needs someone who specializes.”