hat the
white-capped, linen-clad young woman at the window was a nurse. He
watched her fingers move swiftly and surely in the fashioning of a
small round of needlework.

Her face was turned from him but somehow he knew that she was young
and, in a dreamy sort of way, hoped she was pretty. He thought of
attracting her attention but decided to prolong the suspense--the
chances were against it--so many girls are not.

He closed his eyes and tried to think. The fact that he was in a
strange room with his head swathed in bandages, and that a young and
possibly pretty nurse sat at the window, evidently for the purpose of
ministering to him, suggested a hospital.

Young Carmody had never been in a hospital, but the atmosphere of this
room did not in any way conform to his rather vague notion of what a
hospital should be. There was no long row of white beds all just alike,
nor white walls, nor tiled floors over which people tip-toed to and fro
and talked in hurried, low-voiced tones; nor was the air laden with the
smell of drugs which he had always associated in his mind with such
places. He must ask the nurse.

He was so drowsily comfortable that it was with an effort he opened his
eyes. A rebellious lock of hair strayed from under her cap as she
leaned over her work. The sunlight caught it and through the rich
threads of its length shot tiny glints of gold.

"Ethel!" The name sprang involuntarily from his lips and even as he
spoke he smiled at the thought. The girl laid aside her work and
crossed to the bed.

"You called?" she asked, and the man realized vaguely that her voice
was low and very pleasant.

"Yes--that is, no--I mean, you _are_ pretty, aren't you?" He smiled
frankly up at her, and somehow the smile was contagious--she even
blushed slightly.

"You must excuse me this time," he continued, "I must have been
thinking out loud."

"You seem to be a--well, a rather abrupt young man," she smiled. "But
you must not try to think--yet. And my name is not Ethel."

"Oh, that's all right. You can't help that, you know--I mean, I think
your name is very pretty--whatever it is," he floundered. "The truth
is, I don't seem to be able to say what I do mean. But really I am not
a fool, although I don't suppose you will ever believe it."

"There, you have talked quite enough. The doctor said you must rest and
not get excited." She smoothed the covers with little pats of her soft
hands.

"But what I want to know," he