said gently. Hilda was a dark figure of
tragedy, as she sat there statuesquely in her blue cloak.

"You could make him see how foolish it is to refuse to have a good
worker; men may die whom I could save. He thinks that--those things
don't mean anything to me, that I am arguing from a personal
standpoint. He wouldn't think that of you."

"I'll do what I can, of course," Drusilla said slowly. She was not
sure that she wanted to get into it, but she was sorry for Hilda.

"Won't you have a cup of tea," she said impulsively, "and take off your
cloak? I am afraid I haven't seemed a bit hospitable. I was so
surprised."

Hilda gave a little laugh. "I'm not used to such courtesies--so I
didn't miss it. But I should like the tea, and something to eat with
it. I left Dr. McKenzie's hospital early this morning, and I haven't
eaten since--I didn't want anything to eat--"

She watched Drusilla curiously as she set forth the food. "It must
seem strange to you to live in a room like this."

"I like it."

"But you have always had such an easy life, Miss Gray."

Drusilla smiled. "It may have looked easy to you. But I give you my
word that keeping up with the social game is harder than this."

"You say that," Hilda told her crisply, "not because it's true, but
because it sounds true. Do you mean to tell me that you like to be
muddy and dirty and live in a place like this?"

"Yes, I like it." Something flamed in the back Of Drusilla's eyes. "I
like it because it means something, and the other didn't."

"Well, I don't like it," Hilda stated. "But nursing is all I am fit
for. I came over with a lot of other nurses, and they tell me at the
hospital I am the best of the lot--and in war times you can't afford to
miss the experience. But then I am used to a hard life, and you are
not."

"Neither are the men in the trenches used to it. That's the standard I
apply to myself--for every hard thing I am doing, it is ten times
harder for them. I wish all the people at home could see how wonderful
they are."

"That's Jean McKenzie's word--wonderful. Everything was wonderful, and
now she has married Derry Drake."

"Yes, she has married Derry," Drusilla stood staring into the little
round stove.

She roused herself presently. "I call them Babes in the Wood. They
seem so young, and yet Derry isn't really young--it is only that
there's such a radiant air about him."

Hilda's bitterness broke forth. "Why shouldn