Ralph Webster received this tiny note the next morning, and after a little consideration he determined to accept her invitation. He naturally felt a strange interest in Kathleen Weir's proceedings, and wondered what her news could be; wondered if in any way it could affect the one woman of whom he ever thought. He had seen May Churchill the day before, and had noticed on her fair face a certain new serenity; a new peace, as if her bitter pain had passed away. And he had heard also from his friend, Doctor Brentwood, that the young probationer was learning to be a most excellent nurse; that she took interest in and studied her duties, and that some of the patients had said that her face was like an angel's as she stood by their bedsides. May, in truth, was learning something besides nursing. She was learning the stern, sad lessons of life. The sick and sorrowing taught her these; taught her to look beyond the passing joys and hopes of earth. She knew now that her sorrow had not been greater than that of others, nor her cross heavier to bear. So patiently and bravely did she do the work that lay nearest to her hand. To Ralph Webster she naturally felt very grateful, and she had said something of this the last time he had seen her. But he still had never spoken of his strong, deep feelings toward her. He had not, in fact, the same opportunities of doing this at the hospital as he had at Hastings. But he was only biding his time. "Some day I will try to win her," he told himself each time he saw her; "some day she will forget, and cease to grieve." He was thinking of her as he drove to the flat occupied by Miss Kathleen Weir; thinking of her, as he always did, with tender and protecting love. But the handsome woman who rose to welcome him amid her flowers and the ornate decorations of her room, naturally knew nothing of this secret of his heart. Kathleen Weir received him with smiles and real pleasure. She looked in his dark, earnest face and compared him mentally with the man she had seen the day before. "He is worth winning," she thought; "worth everything--at least to me." "And what is your wonderful news?" asked Webster, smiling, after they had shaken hands and Kathleen Weir had once more sank down on the satin couch from which she had risen at his entrance. "Wait until we have dined," she answered, gaily. "It is so wonderful it would take away your appetite if we did not." "Very well, I am content to wait," said Webster, and a few minutes after dinner was served. It was a luxurious little meal. Kathleen had spared nothing to make it attractive and agreeable, and during it she was bright and charming, and Webster thought he had never seen her look so well. Then, when it was over, she rose in her lithe way and returned to the drawing-room, followed by Webster. "Now, I am going to give you a great surprise," she said; "where will you sit?" He drew a chair and placed it near her.