It was half mocking and half tender; and he watched until the quiet-moving figure disappeared in the distance of the long corridor. Then he put out Aunt Jane's lights and went home. XLIII It was very quiet in the hospital. The lights were turned low in the corridors; only a subdued glow from Aunt Jane's office shone out into the dimness. Dr. Carmon, on his round of late visits, glanced at the light as he came and went. He had not seen Aunt Jane to-day. He had been out of town. It had been a hard day for Dr. Carmon. When the last visit was over, he hesitated a minute. Then he went swiftly down the hall toward the light shining from the door. At the door he paused. Aunt Jane, over by the shaded lamp, sat in her rocking-chair. She rocked gently; and as she rocked, little thoughts came and went in her face. He stood silently watching the face. It was smiling now. He stepped in quickly. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. She looked up with a start--and brushed a hand across her face. "I--I was thinking about my--my wings, I guess." She was laughing a little. "Umph! Just about ready to grow 'em, I expect!" He put down his bag and came and sat opposite her and placed a hand on either knee, surveying her shrewdly. "How are you feeling?" "All right." "Slept well?" A little smile crossed the words. "I never had such a sleep!... And I feel all right after it," she added thoughtfully. "But I don't believe in taking things!" She was mildly indignant. "Can't hurt you," he said absently. "I knew what I was giving." "But--_I_ didn't." "'Twasn't necessary," he said briefly. She looked up at him with a little surprised twinkle and rocked gently. He was leaning forward, an arm resting on either knee, his hands hanging relaxed between the knees. He was lost in thought. She stole a glance at the preoccupied face--and opened her lips--and closed them and went on rocking. He had put the tips of his fingers together and was swinging them a little and whistling softly. He looked at her. "Jane----" "What!" It was almost a jump. He smiled a little. The whistle had ceased. "Do--you--love me, Jane?" She looked at him indignantly. "Whatever put such an idea into your head!" "It isn't there--I wish it were!" He was looking at her quietly and at something flooding up under her cap. "I wonder--if you do?" He was swinging the finger-tips thoughtfully, as if they balanced it for him, and his eyes did not leave her face. "Jane----" She looked at him meekly, a flitting glance--and then away. "Don't you love me?" "Yes." She drew in the word with a quick breath and got up abruptly. She went straight across the room to her desk--and stopped. He watched her with a slow, questioning look. He got up slowly. "I--I'm too _old_ to love anybody!" The words came softly to him--with a half sob. "I'm just ashamed of it!" She was sitting facing the desk and her shoulders lifted with the little sobbing breaths she tried to control.