As the nurse had intimated, it was an altogether unprecedented meeting.
Formality had been gently tossed out of the window; after which the
President sat, not behind his desk, but upon it--an open letter in his
hand. His whole attitude suggested a wish to banish, as far as it lay
within his power, the atmosphere of the previous afternoon.

"Here is a letter to be considered first," he said, a bit gravely. "It
makes rather a good prologue to our reconsideration of the incurable
ward," and the ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.
"This is from the widow of the Richest Trustee." He read, slowly:

"MESDAMES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE BOARD,--I thank you for your courtesy in
asking me to fill my husband's place as one of the trustees of Saint
Margaret's. Until this afternoon I had every intention of so doing;
but I cannot think now that my husband would wish me to continue his
support of an institution whose directors have so far forgotten the
name under which they dispense their charity as to put science and
pride first. As for myself--I find I am strongly interested in
incurables--your incurables.
Yours very truly"

The President laid the letter behind him on the desk, while the entire
board gasped in amazement.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" muttered the Disagreeable Trustee.

"But just think of _her_--writing it!" burst forth the Oldest Trustee.

The Meanest Trustee barked out an exclamation, but nothing followed it;
undoubtedly that was due to the President's interrupting:

"I think if we had received this yesterday we should have been
very--exceedingly--indignant; we should have censured the writer
severely. As it is--hmm--" The President stopped short; it was as if
his mind had refused to tabulate his feelings.

"As it is"--the Executive Trustee took up the dropped thread and went
on--"we have decided to reconsider the removal of the incurable ward
without any--preaching--or priming of conscience."

"I am so glad we really had changed our minds first. I should so hate
to have that insignificant little woman think that we were influenced
by anything she might write. Wouldn't you?" And the Youngest and
Prettiest Trustee dimpled ravishingly at the Senior Surgeon.

"Wouldn't you two like to go into the consulting-room and talk it over?
We could settle the business in hand, this time, without your
assistance, I think." The voice of the Disagreeable Trustee dripped
sarcasm.

"I sho