e glimpses of all
sorts of wonderful things which might be known. You can go on, and it's
the going on that matters."

"But I can't carry wood."

A little smile curled the corners of Desire's lips. He did not see it
because she had turned to the fire again and, with that deliberate
unself-consciousness which characterized her, was proceeding to unpin
and dry her hair. Spence had not seen it undone before and was
astonished at its length and lustre. The girl shook it as a young colt
shakes its mane, spreading it out to the blaze upon her hands.

"I know what you mean, though," admitted Spence, "there is nothing like
the fascination of the unknown. It very nearly did for me."

Desire looked up long enough to allow her slanting brows to ask their
eternal question.

"Too much inside, not enough outside," he answered. "I ought to have
made myself a man first and a student afterward. Then I might have been
out in the rain you."

She considered this, as she considered most things, gravely. Then
met it in her downright way.

"There's nothing very wrong with you, is there? Nothing but what can be
put right."

"No."

"Well then, you can begin again. And begin properly."

"I am thirty-five."

"In that case you have no time to waste."

It was a thoroughly sensible remark. But somehow the professor did not
like it. After all, thirty-five is not so terribly old. He decided to
change the subject. But there was no immediate hurry. It was pleasant
to lie there in the firelight watching this enigma of girl-hood dry her
hair. Perhaps she would notice his silence and ask him what he was
thinking about.

"You really ought to offer me a penny for my thoughts," he observed
plaintively.

"Oh, were you thinking? So was I."

"I'll give you a penny for yours!"

Desire shook her head.

"No? Then I'll give you mine for nothing. I was thinking what a pity it
is that you are only an amateur nurse."

"I hate nursing."

"How unwomanly! Lots of women hate it--but few admit it. However, it
wasn't a nurse's duties I was thinking of, but a patient's privileges.
You see, if you were a professional nurse I could call you 'Nurse
Desire.'"

"Do you mean that you want to call me by my first name?"

"Since you put it more bluntly than I should dare to,--yes. It is a
charming name. But perhaps--"

"Oh, you may use it if you like," said the owner of the name
indifferently. "It sounds more natural. I am not accustomed to 'Miss
Fair