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Show " fl " & e was a amous rnan who had lost f i I' himself through fear, but found courage in an inspiring woman's love Mary Roberts Rinehart tells the story I SIDNEY LEARNS SOME VERY PAINFUL TRUTHS AND FEAR ENTERS DOCTOR MAX'S SOUL A mysterious stranger, K. LeMoyno, tukes a room at tjie rage home, presided over by Sidney, her mother, Anna, and her Aunt Harriet, Har-riet, a fashionable dressmaker. Through the influence of Dr. Max Wilson, a brilliant young surgeon smitten with her charm, Sidney becomes a hospital nurse. K. loves her from a distance; so does erratic Joe Drummond, an old schoolmate. At the hospital Sidney makes the acquaintance of Cnrlotta Harrison, who has been over-intimate over-intimate with Doctor Max and who is jealous of the innocent new-coiner. new-coiner. Sidney's chum, Christine Lorcnz, marries Palmer Howe, a young society rake and they take rooms with the Pages. Howe turns traitor to his bride. His arm Is broken in a Joy-riding accident and Johnny Itosenfeld, his chauffeur, is fatally hurt. Sidney's mother dies. Doctor Wilson discovers that LeMoyne is a famous Doctor Ed-wardes, Ed-wardes, living incognito, and keeps the secret. Carlotta Harrison poisons Johnny, a pntlent in the hospital, and puts the blame on Sidney. Sid-ney. Christine, secretly admiring K., asks him to warn Sidney against Doctor Wilson, who, she thinks would prove untrue to the girl If he married her. When this Installment opens, K, Is trying to explain to Celestine why he can't interfere in Max and Sidney's Sid-ney's affairs. CHAPTER XVII Continued. 14 "I think you can understand," said K. rather wearily, "that if I cared less, Christine, it would be easier to interfere." inter-fere." After all, Christine had known this, or surmised it, for weeks. But it hurt like a fresh stab in an old wound. It was K. who spoke again after a pause: "The deadly hard thing, of course, is to sit by and see things happening that one that one would naturally try to prevent." "I don't believe that you have always al-ways been of those who only stand and wait," said Christine. "Sometime, K., when you know me better and like me better, I want you to tell me about It, will you?" "There's very little to tell. I held a trust. When I discovered that I was unfit to hold that trust any longer, I quit. That's all." , His tone of finality closed the discussion. discus-sion. But Christine's eyes were on him often that evening, puzzled, rather sad. They talked of books, of music Christine played well In a dashing way. K. had brought her soft, tender little things, and had, stood over her until her noisy touch became gentle. She played for him a little, while he sat back in the big chair with his hand screening his eyes. When, at last, he rose and picked up his cap, it was nine o'clock. "I've taken your whole evening," he said remorsefully. "Why don't you tell me I am a nuisance and send me off?" Christine was still at the piano, her hands on the keys. She spoke without with-out looking at him: "You're never a nuisance, K., and " Something in her tone caught his attention. at-tention. "I forgot to tell you," she went on. "Father has given Palmer five thousand thou-sand dollars. He's going to buy a share in a business." "That's fine." "Possibly. I don't believe much In Palmer's business ventures." Her flat tone still held him. Underneath Under-neath it he divined strain and repression. repres-sion. "I hate to go and leave you alone," he said at last from the door. "Have i you any idea when Palmer will be back?" "Not the slightest. K., will you come here a moment? Stand behind me; I don't want to see you, and I want to tell you something." He did as she bade him, rather puzzled. puz-zled. "Here I am." "I think I am a fool for saying this. Perhaps I am spoiling the only chance I have to get any happiness out of life. But I was terribly unhappy, K., and then you came into my life, and I now I listen for your step in the hall. I can't be a hypocrite any longer, K." When he stood behind her. silent and not moving, she turned slowly about and, faced him. He towered there In the little room, grave eyes on hers. "It's a long time since I have had a woman friend, Christine," he said soberly. so-berly. "Your friendship has meant a good deal. In a good many ways, I'd not care to look ahead if it were not for you. I value our friendship so much that I " "That you don't want to spoil it," she finished for him. "I know you don't care for me, K., not the way I But I wanted you to know. It doesn't hurt a good man to know such a thing. And It isn't going to stop your coming here, is it?" "Of course not," said K. heartily. "But tomorrow, when we are both clear-headed, we will talk this over. You are mistaken tbout this thing. Christine; 1 am sure of that. Things have not been going well, and just because be-cause I am always around, and all that sort of thing, you think things that aren't really so. I'm only a reaction, Christine." He tried to make her smile up at him. But just then she could not eniile. Jf she had cried, things might have been different for everyone; for per haps K. would have taken her in his arms. He was heart-hungry enough, those days, for anything. And perhaps, per-haps, too, being intuitive, Christine felt this. But she had no mind to force him into a situation against his will. "It is because you are good," she said, and held out her hand. "Goodnight." "Good-night." Le Moyne took it and bent over and kissed it lightly. There was in the kiss all that he could not say of respect, re-spect, of affection and understanding. "Good-night, Christine," he said, and went into the hall and upstairs. The lamp was not lighted in his room, but the street light glowed through the windows. Once again the waving fronds of the ailanthus tree flung ghostly shadows on the walls. There was a faint sweet odor of blossoms, blos-soms, so soon to become rank and heavy. CHAPTER XVIII. Sidney went into the operating room late in the spring as the result of a conversation between the younger Wilson Wil-son and the Head. "When are you going to put my protegee into the operating room?" asked Wilson, meeting Miss Gregg in a corridor one bright spring afternoon. "That usually comes in the second year, Doctor Wilson." He smiled down at her. "That isn't a rule, is it?" "Not exactly. Miss Page is very young, and of course there are other "I Can't Be a Hypocrite Any Longer, K." girls who have not yet had the experience. expe-rience. But if you make the request " "I am going to have some good cases soon. I'll not make a request, of course; buti If you see fit, it would be good training for Miss Page." Miss Gregg went on, knowing perfectly per-fectly that at his next operation Doctor Doc-tor Wilson would expect Sidney Page in the operating room. The other doctors doc-tors were not so exigent. She would have liked to have all the staff old and settled, like Doctor O'llara or the older old-er Wilson. These young men came in and tore things up. Sidney went into the operating room that afternoon. For her blue uniform, uni-form, kerchief, and cap she exchanged the hideous operating-room garb : long, straight white gown with short sleeves and mob cap, gray-white from many sterilizations. But the ugly costume seemed to emphasize her beauty, as the habit of a nun often brings out the placid saintliness of her face. The relationship between Sidney and Max had reached that point that occurs oc-curs in all relationships between men and women : when things must either go forward or go back, but cannot remain re-main as they are. The condition had existed for the last three months. It exasperated the man. As a matter of fact, Wilson could not go ahead. The situation with Carlotta had become tense, Irritating. He felt that she stood ready to block any move he made. He would not go back, and he dared not go forward. If Sidney was puzzled, she kept it bravely to herself. In her little room at night, with the door carefully locked, she tried to think things out. There were a few treasures that she looked over regularly : a dried flower from the Christmas roses; a label that he had pasted playfully on the back of her hand one day after the rush of surgical dressings was over and which said : "It. Take once and forever." There was another piece of paper over which Sidney spent much time. It was a page torn out of an order book, and it read : "Sigsbee may have light diet: Eosenfeld massage." Underneath was written, very small : Tou are the most beautiful person in the world. Two reasons had prompted Wilson to request to have Sidney in the operating oper-ating room. He wanted her with him, and he wanted her to see him at work : the age-old instinct of the male to have his woman see him at his best. The deepening and broadening of Sidney's character had been very noticeable no-ticeable in the last few months. She had gained in decision without becoming becom-ing hard ; had learned to see things as they are, not through the rose mist of early girlhood ; and, far from being daunted, had developed a philosophy that had for its basis God in his heaven and all well with the world. But her new theory of acceptance did not comprehend everything. She was in a state of wild revolt, for instance, in-stance, as to Johnny Rosenfeld, and more remotely but not less deeply concerned con-cerned over Grace Irving. But her revolt was to be for herself too. On the day after her appointment to the operating room, she had her half-holiday, and when, after a restless night, she w7ent to her new station, it was to learn that Wilson had been called out of the city in consultation and would not operate that day. O'Hara would take advantage of the free afternoon to run in some odds and ends of cases. The operating room made gauze that morning, and small packets of tampons tam-pons : absorbent cotton covered with sterilized gauze, and fastened together togeth-er twelve, by careful count, in each bundle. Miss Grange, who had been kind to Sidney in her probation months, taught her the method. "Used instead of sponges," she explained. ex-plained. "If you noticed yesterday, they were counted before and after each operation. One of these missing is worse than a bank clerk out a dollar dol-lar at the end of the day. There's no closing up until it's found !" Sidney eyed the small packet before her anxiously. "What a hideous responsibility !" she said. From that time on she handled the small gauze sponges almost reverently. The operating room all glass, white enamel, and shining nickel plate first frightened, then thrilled her. It was as if, having loved a great actor, she now trod the enchanted boards on which he achieved his triumphs. She was glad that it was her afternoon off, and that she would not see some lesser star O'Hara, to wit usurping his place. But Max had not sent her any word. That hurt, ' The operating room was a hive of industry, and tongues kept pace with fingers. What news of the world came In through the great doors was translated trans-lated at once into hospital terms. What the city forgot the hospital remembered. re-membered. It took up life where the town left it at its gates, and carried it on or saw it ended, as the case might be. So these young women knew the ending of many stories, the beginning of some; but of none did they know both the first and last, the beginning and the end. By many small kindnesses Sidney had made herself popular. And there was more to it than that. She never shirked. The other girls had the respect re-spect for her of one honest worker for another. The episode that had caused her suspension seemed entirely forgotten. They showed her carefully what she was to do ; and, because she must know the "why" of everything, they explained as best they could. j It was while she was standing by the great sterilizer that she heard, through an open door, part of a conversation that sent her through the day with her world in revolt. The talkers were putting the anesthetizing an-esthetizing room in readiness for the afternoon. Sidney, waiting for the time to open the sterilizer, was busy for the first time in her hurried morning, with her own thoughts. Because she was very human, there was a little exultation in her mind. "What would these girls say when they learned of how things stood between her and their hero. Not shameful, j this : the honest pride of a woman in being chosen from many. ! The voices were very clear. "She's eating her heart out." "Do you think he has really broken with her?" "Probably not. She knows it's coming com-ing ; that's all." "Sometimes I have wondered" "So have others. She oughtn't to be here, of course. But among so many there is bound to be one now and then who who isn't quite " She hesitated, at a loss for a word. "Did you did you ever think over that trouble with Miss Page about the medicines? That would have been easy, and like her." "She hates Miss Page, of course, but I hardly think If that's true, it was npjirlv murder." There were two voices, a young one, full of soft southern inflections, and an older voice, a trifle hard, as from disillusion. disil-lusion. They were working as they talked. Sidney could hear the clatter of bottles bot-tles on the tray, the scraping of a moved table. "He was crazy about her last fall." "Miss Page?" (The younger voice, with a thrill in it.) "Carlotta. Of course this is confidential." confi-dential." "Surely." "I saw her with him in his car one evening. And on her vacation last summer " The voices dropped to a whisper. Sidney, standing cold and white by the sterilizer, nut out a hand to steady herself. So that was it! No wonder Carlotta had hated her. She was steady enough In a moment, cool and calm, moving about her work with ice-cold ice-cold hands and slightly-narrowed eyes. To a sort of physical nausea was succeeding suc-ceeding anger, a blind fury of injured pride. He had been in love with Carlotta Car-lotta and had tired of her. He was bringing her his warmed-over emotions. She remembered the bitterness of her month's exile, and its probable cause. Max had stood by her then. Well he might, if he suspected the truth. For just a moment she had an illuminating illumi-nating flash of Wilson as he really was, selfish and self-indulgent, just a trifle too carefully dressed, daring as to eye and speech, with a carefully-calculated daring, frankly pleasure-loving. She put her hands over her eyes. ' The voices in the next room had risen above their whisper. "Genius has privileges, of course," said the older voice. "He is a very great surgeon. Tomorrow he is to do the Edwardes operation again. I am glad I am to see him do it." Sidney still held her hands over her eyes. He was a great surgeon: in his hands he held the keys of life and death. And perhaps he had never cared for Carlotta: she might have thrown herself at him. He was a man, at the mercy of any scheming woman. She tried to summon his image to her aid. But a curious thing happened. She could not visualize him. Instead, there came, clear and distinct, a picture pic-ture of K. Le Moyne in the hall of the little house, reaching one of his long arms to the chandelier over his head and looking up at her as she stood on the stairs. CHAPTER XIX. "But, Sidney, I'm asking you to marry mar-ry me!' "I I know that. I am asking you something else, Max." "I have never been in love with her." His voice was sulky. He had drawn the car close to a bank, and they were sitting in the shade, on the grass. It was the Sunday afternoon after Sidney's Sid-ney's experience in the ODerating room. "You took her out, Max, didn't you?" "A few times, yes. She seemed to have no friends. I was sorry for her." "That was all?" "Absolutely. Good heavens, you've put me through a catechism in the last ten. minutes!" "If my father were living, or even mother, I one of them would have done this for me, Max. I'm sorry I had to. I've been very wretched for several days." It was the first encouragement she had given him. There was no coquetry about her aloofness. It was only that her faith in him had had a shock and was slow of reviving. "You are very, very lovely, Sidney. I wonder if you have any Idea what you mean to me?" "You meant a great deal to me, too," she said frankly, "until a few days ago. I thought you were the greatest man I had ever known, and the best And then I think I'd better tell you what I overheard. I didn't try to hear. It just happened that way." He listened doggedly to her account of the hospital gossip, doggedly and with a sinking sense of fear, not of the talk, but of Carlotta herself. Usually one might count on the woman's silence, si-lence, her instinct for self-protection. But Carlotta was different. Hang the girl, anyhow! She had known from the start that the affair was a temporary tem-porary one; he had never pretended anything else. There was silence for a moment after af-ter Sidney finished. Then: Do you think that K. ought to swallow his personal feelings and tell Sidney exactly the truth about Wilson? Would she think him caddish and hate him if he tried to do so? lIO BE COXTI.M'Ell.) |