ove had come slowly to Drusilla, but it had come at
last.

When the Doctor left them, he was in a daze of loneliness. He wanted
Jean, he wanted sympathy, understanding, good-comradeship.

For just one little moment temptation assailed him. There was of
course, Hilda. She would bring with her the atmosphere of familiar
things which he craved. There would be the easy give and take of
speech which was such a relief after his professional manner, there
would be his own teasing sense of how much she wanted, and of how
little he had to give. There would be, too, the stimulus to his vanity.

A broken-hearted Hilda, Drusilla had said. There was something
provocative in the situation--elements of drama. Why not?

He thought about it that night when once more back at his work he and
his head nurse discussed a case of shell shock--a pitiful case of fear,
loss of memory, complete prostration.

The nurse was a plain little thing, very competent, very quiet. She
was, perhaps, no more competent than Hilda in the mechanics of her
profession, but she had qualities which Hilda lacked. She was not very
young, and there were younger nurses under her. Yet in spite of her
plainness and quietness, she wielded an influence which was remarkable.
The whole hospital force was feeling the effect of that influence. It
was as if every nurse had in some rather high and special way dedicated
herself--as nuns might to the conventual life, or sisters of charity to
the service of the poor. There was indeed a heroic aspect to it, a
spiritual aspect, and this plain little woman was setting the pace.

And Hilda, coming in, would spoil it all. Oh, he knew how she would
spoil it. With her mocking laugh, her warped judgments, her skeptical
point of view.

No, he did not want Hilda. The best in him did not want her, and
please God, he was giving his best to this cause. However he might
fail in other things, he would not fail in his high duty towards the
men who came out of battle shattered and broken, holding up their hands
to him for help.

"I am going to let Miss Shelby have the case," the plain little nurse
was saying, "when he begins to come back. She will give him what he
needs. She is so strong and young, so sure of the eternal rightness of
things--and she's got to make him sure."

The Doctor nodded. "Some of us are not sure--"

She agreed gravely. "But we are learning to be sure, aren't we, over
here? Don't you feel that