We will
get you a wheel-chair when you can be about, and I can take you out in
the park when I come from work."

"I'll be passenger and you'll be chauffeur, ma."

"Mr. Le Moyne is going to get your father sent up again. With sixty-five
cents a day and what I make, we'll get along."

"You bet we will!"

"Oh, Johnny, if I could see you coming in the door again and yelling
'mother' and 'supper' in one breath!"

The meeting between Carlotta and Le Moyne was very quiet. She had been
making a sort of subconscious impression on the retina of his mind
during all the night. It would be difficult to tell when he actually
knew her.

When the preparations for moving Johnny back to the big ward had been
made, the other nurses left the room, and Carlotta and the boy were
together. K. stopped her on her way to the door.

"Miss Harrison!"

"Yes, Dr. Edwardes."

"I am not Dr. Edwardes here; my name is Le Moyne."

"Ah!"

"I have not seen you since you left St. John's."

"No; I--I rested for a few months."

"I suppose they do not know that you were--that you have had any
previous hospital experience."

"No. Are you going to tell them?"

"I shall not tell them, of course."

And thus, by simple mutual consent, it was arranged that each should
respect the other's confidence.

Carlotta staggered to her room. There had been a time, just before dawn,
when she had had one of those swift revelations that sometimes come at
the end of a long night. She had seen herself as she was. The boy was
very low, hardly breathing. Her past stretched behind her, a series of
small revenges and passionate outbursts, swift yieldings, slow remorse.
She dared not look ahead. She would have given every hope she had in the
world, just then, for Sidney's stainless past.

She hated herself with that deadliest loathing that comes of complete
self-revelation.

And she carried to her room the knowledge that the night's struggle had
been in vain--that, although Johnny Rosenfeld would live, she had gained
nothing by what he had suffered. The whole night had shown her the
hopelessness of any stratagem to win Wilson from his new allegiance. She
had surprised him in the hallway, watching Sidney's slender figure
as she made her way up the stairs to her room. Never, in all his past
overtures to her, had she seen that look in his eyes.

CHAPTER XIX

To Harriet Kennedy, Sidney's sentence of thirty days' suspension came
as a blow. K. broke the