Sidney finished folding linen and went back to the ward. It was Friday and

a visiting day. Almost every bed had its visitor beside it; but Sidney,

running an eye over the ward, found the girl of whom she had spoken to Le

Moyne quite alone. She was propped up in bed, reading; but at each new

step in the corridor hope would spring into her eyes and die again.

"Want anything, Grace?"

"Me? I'm all right. If these people would only get out and let me read in

peace--Say, sit down and talk to me, won't you? It beats the mischief the

way your friends forget you when you're laid up in a place like this."

"People can't always come at visiting hours. Besides, it's hot."


"A girl I knew was sick here last year, and it wasn't too hot for me to

trot in twice a week with a bunch of flowers for her. Do you think she's

been here once? She hasn't."

Then, suddenly:-"You know that man I told you about the other day?"

Sidney nodded. The girl's anxious eyes were on her.

"It was a shock to me, that's all. I didn't want you to think I'd break my

heart over any fellow. All I meant was, I wished he'd let me know."

Her eyes searched Sidney's. They looked unnaturally large and somber in

her face. Her hair had been cut short, and her nightgown, open at the

neck, showed her thin throat and prominent clavicles.

"You're from the city, aren't you, Miss Page?"


"You told me the street, but I've forgotten it."

Sidney repeated the name of the Street, and slipped a fresh pillow under

the girl's head.

"The evening paper says there's a girl going to be married on your street."

"Really! Oh, I think I know. A friend of mine is going to be married.

Was the name Lorenz?"

"The girl's name was Lorenz. I--I don't remember the man's name."

"She is going to marry a Mr. Howe," said Sidney briskly. "Now, how do you

feel? More comfy?"

"Fine! I suppose you'll be going to that wedding?"

"If I ever get time to have a dress made, I'll surely go."

Toward six o'clock the next morning, the night nurse was making out her

reports. On one record, which said at the top, "Grace Irving, age 19," and

an address which, to the initiated, told all her story, the night nurse

wrote:-"Did not sleep at all during night. Face set and eyes staring, but

complains of no pain. Refused milk at eleven and three."

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