“A little. It is warm.” “What are you going to do this evening? Any lectures?” “Lectures are over for the summer. I shall go to prayers, and after that to the roof for air.” There was a note of bitterness in her voice. Under the eyes of the other nurses, she was carefully contained. They might have been outlining the morning's work at his office. “The hand lotion, please.” She brought it obediently and poured it into his cupped hands. The solutions of the operating-room played havoc with the skin: the surgeons, and especially Wilson, soaked their hands plentifully with a healing lotion. Over the bottle their eyes met again, and this time the girl smiled faintly. “Can't you take a little ride to-night and cool off? I'll have the car wherever you say. A ride and some supper--how does it sound? You could get away at seven--” “Miss Gregg is coming!” With an impassive face, the girl took the bottle away. The workers of the operating-room surged between them. An interne presented an order-book; moppers had come in and waited to clean the tiled floor. There seemed no chance for Wilson to speak to Miss Harrison again. But he was clever with the guile of the pursuing male. Eyes of all on him, he turned at the door of the wardrobe-room, where he would exchange his white garments for street clothing, and spoke to her over the heads of a dozen nurses. “That patient's address that I had forgotten, Miss Harrison, is the corner of the Park and Ellington Avenue.” “Thank you.” She played the game well, was quite calm. He admired her coolness. Certainly she was pretty, and certainly, too, she was interested in him. The hurt to his pride of a few nights before was healed. He went whistling into the wardrobe-room. As he turned he caught the interne's eye, and there passed between them a glance of complete comprehension. The interne grinned. The room was not empty. His brother was there, listening to the comments of O'Hara, his friendly rival. “Good work, boy!” said O'Hara, and clapped a hairy hand on his shoulder. “That last case was a wonder. I'm proud of you, and your brother here is indecently exalted. It was the Edwardes method, wasn't it? I saw it done at his clinic in New York.” “Glad you liked it. Yes. Edwardes was a pal at mine in Berlin. A great surgeon, too, poor old chap!” “There aren't three men in the country with the nerve and the hand for it.” O'Hara went out, glowing with his own magnanimity. Deep in his heart was a gnawing of envy--not for himself, but for his work. These young fellows with no family ties, who could run over to Europe and bring back anything new that was worth while, they had it all over the older men. Not that he would have changed things. God forbid!