can burn your lamp for the ones in the dark. This old world
needs all the happiness it can get now. So?"

Sheila smiled, satisfied. "You always understand. If I ever write out a
prescription for love, I shall make understanding one-third of the dose.
Let's go into partnership, Brooks and O'Leary, Distillers and Dispensers
of Happiness."

"All right, but the firm's wrong. It's going to be Brooks and Brooks," and
Peter kissed her.

"There is one thing," and Sheila gently disentangled herself. "There are
days and days before the wedding, and if everybody thinks I am going to do
nothing until then, everybody is very much mistaken. I'm going in this
minute to sign up for my last case in the Surgical."

It must have been just at this moment that Fate turned on an arbitrary
signal-light and changed a switch. I should like to think that back of his
grin lurked a tiny shadow of contrition.

"And what am I going to do?" Peter called dolefully after her.

"Oh, I don't know. You might write an article on the dangers and
uncertainties of marrying any woman in a profession." And she blew him a
farewell kiss.

The train from the city, that night, brought a handful of patients, and
one of these wore the uniform and insignia of a lieutenant of the
Engineers. His mother came with him. She had been an old patient, and
because of extraordinary circumstances--I use the government term--she had
obtained his discharge from a military hospital and had brought him to the
San to mend.

"The wounds are slow in closing, and there's some nervous trouble," Miss
Maxwell explained to Sheila. "The boy's face is rather tragic. Will you
take the case?"

She accepted with her usual curt nod and a hasty departure for her
uniform. A half-hour later she was back in the Surgical, her fear as well
as her happiness forgotten in the call of another human being in distress.
The superintendent of nurses was right: the boy's face was tragic, and a
frail little mother hovered over him as if she would breathe into his
lungs the last breath from her own. She looked up wistfully, a little
fearsomely, as Sheila entered; then a smile of thanksgiving swept her face
like a flash of sunlight.

"Oh, I'm so glad! I remember you well. I hoped--but it hardly seemed
possible--I didn't dare really to expect it. When I was here before, you
were always so needed, and my boy--of course there is nothing
serious--only--" and the shaking voice ended as incoherently as it ha