hen the Senior Surgeon turned again to the President and the trustees
his face wore a faint smile suggestive of amused toleration.

"I hope the time will soon come," he said very distinctly, "when every
training-school for nurses will bar out the so-called sentimental,
imaginative type; they do a great deal of harm to the profession. As I
was saying, the incurable ward is doing nothing, and we need it for
surgical cases. Look over the reports for the last few months and you
will see how many cases we have had to turn away--twenty in March,
sixteen in February; and this month it is over thirty--one a day. Now
why waste that room for no purpose?"

"Every one of those cases could get into, some of the other hospitals;
but who would take the incurables? What would you do with the children
in Ward C, now?" and Margaret MacLean's voice rang out its challenge.

The Senior Surgeon managed to check an angry explosive and turned to
the President for succor.

"I think," said that man of charitable parts, "that the meeting is
getting a trifle too informal for order. After the Senior Surgeon has
finished I will call on those whom I feel have something
of--hmm--importance to say. In the mean time, my dear young lady, I
beg of you not to interrupt again. The children, of course, could all
be returned to their homes."

"Oh no, they couldn't--" There was something hypnotic in the
persistence of the nurse in charge of Ward C.

Usually keenly sensitive, abnormally alive to impressions and
atmosphere, she shrank from ever intruding herself or her opinions
where they were not welcome; but now all personal consciousness was
dead. She was wholly unaware that she had worked the Senior Surgeon
into a state where he had almost lost his self-control--a condition
heretofore unknown in the Senior Surgeon; that she had exasperated the
President and reduced the trustees to open-mouthed amazement. The
lorgnette shook unsteadily in the hand of the Oldest; and, unmindful of
it all, Margaret MacLean went steadily on:

"Most of them haven't any homes, and the others couldn't live in theirs
a month. You don't know how terrible they are--five families in one
garret, nothing to eat some of the time, father drunk most of the time,
and filth and foul air all of the time. That's the kind of homes they
have--if they have any."

Her outburst was met with a complete silence, ignoring and humiliating.
After a moment the Senior Surgeon went on,