It was eight by the office clock. To get out of her uniform and into street clothing, fifteen minutes; on the trolley, another fifteen. She would need to hurry. But she did not meet him, after all. Miss Wardwell met her in the upper hall. “Did you get my message?” she asked anxiously. “What message?” “Miss Harrison wants to see you. She has been moved to a private room.” Sidney glanced at K.'s little watch. “Must she see me to-night?” “She has been waiting for hours--ever since you went to the operating-room.” Sidney sighed, but she went to Carlotta at once. The girl's condition was puzzling the staff. There was talk of “T.R.”--which is hospital for “typhoid restrictions.” But T.R. has apathy, generally, and Carlotta was not apathetic. Sidney found her tossing restlessly on her high white bed, and put her cool hand over Carlotta's hot one. “Did you send for me?” “Hours ago.” Then, seeing her operating-room uniform: “You've been THERE, have you?” “Is there anything I can do, Carlotta?” Excitement had dyed Sidney's cheeks with color and made her eyes luminous. The girl in the bed eyed her, and then abruptly drew her hand away. “Were you going out?” “Yes; but not right away.” “I'll not keep you if you have an engagement.” “The engagement will have to wait. I'm sorry you're ill. If you would like me to stay with you tonight--” Carlotta shook her head on her pillow. “Mercy, no!” she said irritably. “I'm only worn out. I need a rest. Are you going home to-night?” “No,” Sidney admitted, and flushed. Nothing escaped Carlotta's eyes--the younger girl's radiance, her confusion, even her operating room uniform and what it signified. How she hated her, with her youth and freshness, her wide eyes, her soft red lips! And this engagement--she had the uncanny divination of fury. “I was going to ask you to do something for me,” she said shortly; “but I've changed my mind about it. Go on and keep your engagement.” To end the interview, she turned over and lay with her face to the wall. Sidney stood waiting uncertainly. All her training had been to ignore the irritability of the sick, and Carlotta was very ill; she could see that. “Just remember that I am ready to do anything I can, Carlotta,” she said. “Nothing will--will be a trouble.” She waited a moment, but, receiving no acknowledgement of her offer, she turned slowly and went toward the door. “Sidney!” She went back to the bed. “Yes. Don't sit up, Carlotta. What is it?” “I'm frightened!” “You're feverish and nervous. There's nothing to be frightened about.” “If it's typhoid, I'm gone.” “That's childish. Of course you're not gone, or anything like it. Besides, it's probably not typhoid.” “I'm afraid to sleep. I doze for a little, and when I waken there are people in the room. They stand around the bed and talk about me.” Sidney's precious minutes were flying; but Carlotta had gone into a paroxysm of terror, holding to Sidney's hand and begging not to be left alone.