"It's all sort of dead there since
you left. Joe Drummond doesn't moon up and down any more, for one thing.
What was wrong between you and Joe, Sidney?"

"I didn't want to marry him; that's all."

"That's considerable. The boy's taking it hard."

Then, seeing her face:--

"But you're right, of course. Don't marry anyone unless you can't live
without him. That's been my motto, and here I am, still single."

He went out and down the corridor. He had known Sidney all his life.
During the lonely times when Max was at college and in Europe, he had
watched her grow from a child to a young girl. He did not suspect for
a moment that in that secret heart of hers he sat newly enthroned, in
a glow of white light, as Max's brother; that the mere thought that
he lived in Max's house (it was, of course Max's house to her), sat at
Max's breakfast table, could see him whenever he wished, made the touch
of his hand on hers a benediction and a caress.

Sidney finished folding linen and went back to the ward. It was Friday
and a visiting day. Almost every bed had its visitor beside it; but
Sidney, running an eye over the ward, found the girl of whom she had
spoken to Le Moyne quite alone. She was propped up in bed, reading; but
at each new step in the corridor hope would spring into her eyes and die
again.

"Want anything, Grace?"

"Me? I'm all right. If these people would only get out and let me read
in peace--Say, sit down and talk to me, won't you? It beats the mischief
the way your friends forget you when you're laid up in a place like
this."

"People can't always come at visiting hours. Besides, it's hot."

"A girl I knew was sick here last year, and it wasn't too hot for me to
trot in twice a week with a bunch of flowers for her. Do you think she's
been here once? She hasn't."

Then, suddenly:--

"You know that man I told you about the other day?"

Sidney nodded. The girl's anxious eyes were on her.

"It was a shock to me, that's all. I didn't want you to think I'd break
my heart over any fellow. All I meant was, I wished he'd let me know."

Her eyes searched Sidney's. They looked unnaturally large and somber in
her face. Her hair had been cut short, and her nightgown, open at the
neck, showed her thin throat and prominent clavicles.

"You're from the city, aren't you, Miss Page?"

"Yes."

"You told me the street, but I've forgotten it."

Sidney repeated the name of the Street, and slipped a fresh pillow und