many stories, the beginning of some; but of none did they know both the
first and last, the beginning and the end.

By many small kindnesses Sidney had made herself popular. And there was
more to it than that. She never shirked. The other girls had the respect
for her of one honest worker for another. The episode that had caused
her suspension seemed entirely forgotten. They showed her carefully what
she was to do; and, because she must know the "why" of everything, they
explained as best they could.

It was while she was standing by the great sterilizer that she heard,
through an open door, part of a conversation that sent her through the
day with her world in revolt.

The talkers were putting the anaesthetizing-room in readiness for the
afternoon. Sidney, waiting for the time to open the sterilizer, was
busy, for the first time in her hurried morning, with her own thoughts.
Because she was very human, there was a little exultation in her mind.
What would these girls say when they learned of how things stood between
her and their hero--that, out of all his world of society and clubs and
beautiful women, he was going to choose her?

Not shameful, this: the honest pride of a woman in being chosen from
many.

The voices were very clear.

"Typhoid! Of course not. She's eating her heart out."

"Do you think he has really broken with her?"

"Probably not. She knows it's coming; that's all."

"Sometimes I have wondered--"

"So have others. She oughtn't to be here, of course. But among so many
there is bound to be one now and then who--who isn't quite--"

She hesitated, at a loss for a word.

"Did you--did you ever think over that trouble with Miss Page about the
medicines? That would have been easy, and like her."

"She hates Miss Page, of course, but I hardly think--If that's true, it
was nearly murder."

There were two voices, a young one, full of soft southern inflections,
and an older voice, a trifle hard, as from disillusion.

They were working as they talked. Sidney could hear the clatter of
bottles on the tray, the scraping of a moved table.

"He was crazy about her last fall."

"Miss Page?" (The younger voice, with a thrill in it.)

"Carlotta. Of course this is confidential."

"Surely."

"I saw her with him in his car one evening. And on her vacation last
summer--"

The voices dropped to a whisper. Sidney, standing cold and white by the
sterilizer, put out a hand to steady herself. So that