do, Carlotta?"

Excitement had dyed Sidney's cheeks with color and made her eyes
luminous. The girl in the bed eyed her, and then abruptly drew her hand
away.

"Were you going out?"

"Yes; but not right away."

"I'll not keep you if you have an engagement."

"The engagement will have to wait. I'm sorry you're ill. If you would
like me to stay with you tonight--"

Carlotta shook her head on her pillow.

"Mercy, no!" she said irritably. "I'm only worn out. I need a rest. Are
you going home to-night?"

"No," Sidney admitted, and flushed.

Nothing escaped Carlotta's eyes--the younger girl's radiance, her
confusion, even her operating room uniform and what it signified. How
she hated her, with her youth and freshness, her wide eyes, her soft red
lips! And this engagement--she had the uncanny divination of fury.

"I was going to ask you to do something for me," she said shortly; "but
I've changed my mind about it. Go on and keep your engagement."

To end the interview, she turned over and lay with her face to the wall.
Sidney stood waiting uncertainly. All her training had been to ignore
the irritability of the sick, and Carlotta was very ill; she could see
that.

"Just remember that I am ready to do anything I can, Carlotta," she
said. "Nothing will--will be a trouble."

She waited a moment, but, receiving no acknowledgement of her offer, she
turned slowly and went toward the door.

"Sidney!"

She went back to the bed.

"Yes. Don't sit up, Carlotta. What is it?"

"I'm frightened!"

"You're feverish and nervous. There's nothing to be frightened about."

"If it's typhoid, I'm gone."

"That's childish. Of course you're not gone, or anything like it.
Besides, it's probably not typhoid."

"I'm afraid to sleep. I doze for a little, and when I waken there are
people in the room. They stand around the bed and talk about me."

Sidney's precious minutes were flying; but Carlotta had gone into a
paroxysm of terror, holding to Sidney's hand and begging not to be left
alone.

"I'm too young to die," she would whimper. And in the next breath: "I
want to die--I don't want to live!"

The hands of the little watch pointed to eight-thirty when at last she
lay quiet, with closed eyes. Sidney, tiptoeing to the door, was brought
up short by her name again, this time in a more normal voice:--

"Sidney."

"Yes, dear."

"Perhaps you are right and I'm going to get over this."

"Certainly you are. Your nerves ar