Up to this time, Weldon had been her only patient whom
she had known outside the routine duties of her hospital life. In a
sense, it had been a relief to meet some one whom she knew to be of
her own world; in a sense, the case had worn upon her acutely. She
could watch with a greater degree of stolidity the sufferings of
other men.
Among her new charges, that day, only one had made any distinct
impression upon her overworked brain. That was a jovial young
fellow, handsome as Phoebus Apollo, in spite of a slashing scar
across one cheek. He had answered to her questions regarding his
wounded foot with an accent so like that of Weldon that
involuntarily she lingered beside him to add a word of cheery
consolation. His was her final case, that night. As she wearily
turned towards her own room, she made no effort to analyze her
exhaustion.
She found Ethel, still in her hat and jacket, sitting on the edge of
her own narrow cot.
"Cooee Dent!"
"Yes, dear." The girl's tone was nonchalant, even while the telltale
color came into her cheeks.
"What are you doing here?"
"Visiting you, of course."
"Visiting me! But, Cooee, I really don't know where I can put you.
Pages:
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136