In the midst of the confusion, Wilson stood giving last orders to the interne at his elbow. As he talked he scoured his hands and arms with a small brush; bits of lather flew off on to the tiled floor. His speech was incisive, vigorous. At the hospital they said his nerves were iron; there was no let-down after the day's work. The internes worshiped and feared him. He was just, but without mercy. To be able to work like that, so certainly, with so sure a touch, and to look like a Greek god! Wilson's only rival, a gynecologist named O'Hara, got results, too; but he sweated and swore through his operations, was not too careful as to asepsis, and looked like a gorilla. The day had been a hard one. The operating room nurses were fagged. Two or three probationers had been sent to help cleanup, and a senior nurse. Wilson's eyes caught the nurse's eyes as she passed him. “Here, too, Miss Harrison!” he said gayly. “Have they set you on my trail?” With the eyes of the room on her, the girl answered primly:-- “I'm to be in your office in the mornings, Dr. Wilson, and anywhere I am needed in the afternoons.” “And your vacation?” “I shall take it when Miss Simpson comes back.” Although he went on at once with his conversation with the interne, he still heard the click of her heels about the room. He had not lost the fact that she had flushed when he spoke to her. The mischief that was latent in him came to the surface. When he had rinsed his hands, he followed her, carrying the towel to where she stood talking to the superintendent of the training school. “Thanks very much, Miss Gregg,” he said. “Everything went off nicely.” “I was sorry about that catgut. We have no trouble with what we prepare ourselves. But with so many operations--” He was in a magnanimous mood. He smiled at Miss Gregg, who was elderly and gray, but visibly his creature. “That's all right. It's the first time, and of course it will be the last.” “The sponge list, doctor.” He glanced over it, noting accurately sponges prepared, used, turned in. But he missed no gesture of the girl who stood beside Miss Gregg. “All right.” He returned the list. “That was a mighty pretty probationer I brought you yesterday.” Two small frowning lines appeared between Miss Harrison's dark brows. He caught them, caught her somber eyes too, and was amused and rather stimulated. “She is very young.” “Prefer 'em young,” said Dr. Max. “Willing to learn at that age. You'll have to watch her, though. You'll have all the internes buzzing around, neglecting business.” Miss Gregg rather fluttered. She was divided between her disapproval of internes at all times and of young probationers generally, and her allegiance to the brilliant surgeon whose word was rapidly becoming law in the hospital. When an emergency of the cleaning up called her away, doubt still in her eyes, Wilson was left alone with Miss Harrison. “Tired?” He adopted the gentle, almost tender tone that made most women his slaves.