“I shall not go far. I'll always be near enough, so that I can see you”--he changed this hastily--“so that we can still meet and talk things over. Old friends ought to be like that, not too near, but to be turned on when needed, like a tap.” “Where will you go?” “The Rosenfelds are rather in straits. I thought of helping them to get a small house somewhere and of taking a room with them. It's largely a matter of furniture. If they could furnish it even plainly, it could be done. I--haven't saved anything.” “Do you ever think of yourself?” she cried. “Have you always gone through life helping people, K.? Save anything! I should think not! You spend it all on others.” She bent over and put her hand on his shoulder. “It will not be home without you, K.” To save him, he could not have spoken just then. A riot of rebellion surged up in him, that he must let this best thing in his life go out of it. To go empty of heart through the rest of his days, while his very arms ached to hold her! And she was so near--just above, with her hand on his shoulder, her wistful face so close that, without moving, he could have brushed her hair. “You have not wished me happiness, K. Do you remember, when I was going to the hospital and you gave me the little watch--do you remember what you said?” “Yes”--huskily. “Will you say it again?” “But that was good-bye.” “Isn't this, in a way? You are going to leave us, and I--say it, K.” “Good-bye, dear, and--God bless you.” CHAPTER XXIII The announcement of Sidney's engagement was not to be made for a year. Wilson, chafing under the delay, was obliged to admit to himself that it was best. Many things could happen in a year. Carlotta would have finished her training, and by that time would probably be reconciled to the ending of their relationship. He intended to end that. He had meant every word of what he had sworn to Sidney. He was genuinely in love, even unselfishly--as far as he could be unselfish. The secret was to be carefully kept also for Sidney's sake. The hospital did not approve of engagements between nurses and the staff. It was disorganizing, bad for discipline. Sidney was very happy all that summer. She glowed with pride when her lover put through a difficult piece of work; flushed and palpitated when she heard his praises sung; grew to know, by a sort of intuition, when he was in the house. She wore his ring on a fine chain around her neck, and grew prettier every day. Once or twice, however, when she was at home, away from the glamour, her early fears obsessed her. Would he always love her? He was so handsome and so gifted, and there were women who were mad about him. That was the gossip of the hospital. Suppose she married him and he tired of her? In her humility she thought that perhaps only her youth, and such charm as she had that belonged to youth, held him. And before her, always, she saw the tragic women of the wards.