his shoulder, her wistful face so close that, without moving, he
could have brushed her hair.

"You have not wished me happiness, K. Do you remember, when I was going
to the hospital and you gave me the little watch--do you remember what
you said?"

"Yes"--huskily.

"Will you say it again?"

"But that was good-bye."

"Isn't this, in a way? You are going to leave us, and I--say it, K."

"Good-bye, dear, and--God bless you."

CHAPTER XXIII

The announcement of Sidney's engagement was not to be made for a year.
Wilson, chafing under the delay, was obliged to admit to himself that
it was best. Many things could happen in a year. Carlotta would have
finished her training, and by that time would probably be reconciled to
the ending of their relationship.

He intended to end that. He had meant every word of what he had sworn to
Sidney. He was genuinely in love, even unselfishly--as far as he could
be unselfish. The secret was to be carefully kept also for Sidney's
sake. The hospital did not approve of engagements between nurses and the
staff. It was disorganizing, bad for discipline.

Sidney was very happy all that summer. She glowed with pride when her
lover put through a difficult piece of work; flushed and palpitated when
she heard his praises sung; grew to know, by a sort of intuition, when
he was in the house. She wore his ring on a fine chain around her neck,
and grew prettier every day.

Once or twice, however, when she was at home, away from the glamour, her
early fears obsessed her. Would he always love her? He was so handsome
and so gifted, and there were women who were mad about him. That was the
gossip of the hospital. Suppose she married him and he tired of her? In
her humility she thought that perhaps only her youth, and such charm as
she had that belonged to youth, held him. And before her, always, she
saw the tragic women of the wards.

K. had postponed his leaving until fall. Sidney had been insistent, and
Harriet had topped the argument in her businesslike way. "If you insist
on being an idiot and adopting the Rosenfeld family," she said, "wait
until September. The season for boarders doesn't begin until fall."

So K. waited for "the season," and ate his heart out for Sidney in the
interval.

Johnny Rosenfeld still lay in his ward, inert from the waist down. K.
was his most frequent visitor. As a matter of fact, he was watching the
boy closely, at Max Wilson's request.

"Tell me wh