an nurse hurried in,
her sparrow eyes transformed to stiletto points of indignation. "_Ah,
m'sieu--c'est trop fort!_ When I told you expressly to do nothing to
excite the poor little one!" I rose, self-convicted, before her.

"_Tais-toi, Annette!_" exclaimed Susan sharply, her eyes too gleaming
with indignation. "It is not your place to speak so to m'sieu, a man old
enough to be your father--and more than a father to me! For shame! His
surprise was unavoidable! I have just given him a shock--unexpected
news! Good news, however, I am glad to say. Now leave us!"

"On the contrary," replied Nurse Annette, four feet eleven of
uncompromising and awful dignity, "I am in charge here, and it is m'sieu
who will leave--_tout court_! But I regret my _vivacite_, _m'sieu_!"

"It is nothing, mademoiselle. You have acted as you should. It is for me
to offer my regrets. But--when may I return?"

"To-morrow, m'sieu," said Nurse Annette.

"Naturally," said Susan. "Now sit down, please, Ambo, and listen to me."

For an instant the stiletto points glinted dangerously; then Nurse
Annette giggled. That is precisely what Nurse Annette did; she giggled.
Then she twirled about on her toes and left us--very quietly, yet not
without a certain malicious ostentation, closing the door.

The French are a brave people, an intelligent and industrious people;
but they exhibit at times a levity almost childlike in the descendants
of so ancient and so deeply civilized a race....

"I knew nothing about it myself, Ambo," Susan was saying, "until I was
beginning to feel a little stronger, after my operations at Dunkirk.
Then Mona brought me letters--three from you, dear, and one long one
from Jimmy. But no letter from Phil. I'd hoped, foolishly I suppose, for
that. Jimmy's was the dearest, funniest letter I've ever read; it made
me laugh and cry all at once. It wasn't a bit good for me, Ambo. It used
me all up! And I kept wondering what you must be thinking. You see, he
said in it he had written you."

"I've had no letter from Jimmy for at least five or six months," I
replied.

"So many letters start bravely off over here," sighed Susan, "and then
just vanish--like Phil. How many heartbreaks they must have caused, all
those vanished letters--and men. And how silly of me to think about it!
There must be some fatal connection, Ambo, between being sick and being
sentimental. I suppose sentimentality's always one symptom of weakness.
I've never been s