ndy knew what to
do, and with feet that hardly touched the steps I was at the
telephone and calling the number that had been given me. I was
frightened and impatient at the slowness of Central. "For Heaven's
sake, hurry!" I said. "Some one is ill. Ring loud!"

Dr. Carson was in. He would come at once. Miss White was out.

"Where is she?" I asked. "Where can I get her?"

I was told where she might be found, and, changing my slippers for
shoes, and putting on my coat and hat, I came down ready to go out.
At the door of the room where they had taken the girl I stopped. She
was now quite conscious, and with no pillow under her head she was
staring up at the ceiling. Blood was no longer on her lips, but a
curious smile was on them. It must have been this gasping, faintly
scornful smile that startled me. It seemed mocking what had been
done too late.

"I am going for Miss White." I looked at Mr. Guard. "She is at the
Bostrows'. The doctor--"

As I spoke he came in, a big man, careless in dress and caustic in
speech, but a man to be trusted. I slipped out and in a few minutes
had found Martha White, and quickly we walked back to Scarborough
Square.

"It's well you came when you did." She bent her head to keep the
swirling snowflakes from her face. Martha is fat and short and rapid
walking is difficult. "I was just about to leave for the other end
of town to see a typhoid case of Miss Wyatt's. She's young and gets
frightened easily, and I promised I'd come some time to-day, though
it's out of my district. Who is this girl I'm going to see?"

"I don't know. I heard Mr. Guard and Mrs. Mundy call her Lillie
Pierce. They seemed to know her. I never saw her before."

"Never heard of her." Miss White, who had been district nursing for
fourteen years, made effort to recall the name. "She had a
hemorrhage, you say?"

She did not wait for an answer, but went up the steps ahead of me,
and envy filled me as I followed her into the room where she was to
find her patient. Professionally Miss White was one person, socially
another. Off duty she was slow and shy and consciously awkward. In
the sick-room she was transformed. Quiet, cool, steady, alert, she
knew what to do and how to do it. With a word to the others, her
coat and hat were off and she was standing by the bed, and again I
was humiliated that I knew how to do so little, was of so little
worth.

Between the doctor and herself was some tal