of vague
disappointment. Surely _this_ day, which meant so much in her life,
might have dawned fair! The glimpse of a leaden sky colored her thoughts
for a moment, as she lay still in the drowsy relaxation of
half-awakening, when dreams beckon from _dolce far niente_ land, and the
whispering voice of slumber mingles with the more stirring call of the
brain to be up and doing. The recollection that Donald was far away, and
could not be with her to witness her triumph, brought a sense of bitter
disappointment to her over again. "I must write him everything that
happens to-day. He will be happy in my happiness, I know," she murmured,
half aloud, and her roommate awoke and answered with a sleepy, "What,
dear?"

"Nothing. I guess that I must have been talking in my sleep," laughed
Rose, as she now sat up energetically, fully awake. By their own request
Dorothy Roberts and she still occupied one of the few double rooms
reserved for third-year student nurses, who preferred to share their
quarters.

The other followed, more drowsily.

"Look," called Rose, from the window. "It's going to clear. Oh, see that
wonderful rainbow. I don't believe I ever saw one in the morning
before."

"'Rainbow at morning, sailors take warning,'" quoted Dorothy.

"I don't believe in that, or any other _unpleasant_ 'stupidstition'--as
my reverend used to call them," Rose retorted, as she hastily began to
dress, for the last time, in the blue striped costume which had been
hers for nearly three years, but was, in a few hours, to change to one
pure white, like a sombre chrysalis to a radiant butterfly. "No matter
when a rainbow appears it is always an omen of fair promise. It's Mother
Nature smiling through her tears."

She caught, in the mirror, a reflection of her friend's affectionate
glance; her own cheek began to dimple and her lips to curve as she said,
"I can tell by your expression just what you're going to say, and...."

"Egoist," mocked the other. "I hadn't the slightest idea of comparing
your own smile to a rainbow, so now."

"I can't help it, really." Rose spoke with unfeigned distress in her
voice, and began angrily to massage the corners of her mouth downward.
"There's something wrong with the muscles of my face, I think, and
sometimes I get worried for fear people will think that it's
affectation. I get frightfully tired of seeing a perpetually forced grin
on other faces--it reminds me of Mr. William Shakespeare's remark that