"And perhaps to be dangerously ill!" "You must try to hope for the best." "Ah, you speak like the hospital nurse to me!" he cried; "I was remembering the woman." "I speak as what I am," she returned coldly; "I am one of the nurses. I have no remembrances, myself." "You could remember this week, when we met again. And once you wouldn't have found it so impossible to spare a minute's kindness to my boy!" She moved towards the door, paler, but self-contained. "I must go now," she said; "I can't stay away long." "You choose to forget only when something is asked of you!" "I have told you," she said, turning, "that it is out of my power to do anything." "And you are glad you can say it!" "Perhaps. No reminder of my old disgrace is pleasant to me." "Your reformation is very complete," he answered bitterly; "the woman I used to know would have been unable to retaliate upon a helpless child." The sting of the retort roused her to refutation. Her hand, extended towards the door, dropped to her side; she faced him swiftly. "You find me what you made me," she said with white lips. "I neither retaliate nor pity. What is your wife's child to me, that you ask me to care for it? If I'm hard, it was you who taught me to be hard before he was born." "It's _my_ child I asked you to care for. And I brought myself to ask it because he's my dearest thing on earth. I thank God to learn he won't be in your charge!" She shivered, and for a moment looked at him intently. Then her eyelids drooped, and she left him without a word. She went out into the corridor--her hand was pressed against her breast. But her duties were not immediately resumed. She made her way into the children's wing, moving with nothing of indecision in her manner, but like one who proceeds to fulfil a purpose. The two rows of beds left a passage down the floor, and she scanned the faces till she reached the nurses' table. By chance, she spoke to the nurse that Kincaid had summoned. "There's a boy just been brought in with diphtheria, Sophie; do you know where he is?" "Yes, I'm going back to him in a minute. He's in a special ward." "Let me see him!" "Have you got permission?" "No." Nurse Gay hesitated. "I shall get into trouble," she said. "Why don't you ask for it?" "I don't want to wait; I want to see him now." "I've been in hot water once this week already----" "Sophie, I know the mite, and--and his people. I _must_ go in to him!" The girl glanced at her keenly. "Oh, if it's like that!" she said. "It's only a wigging--go!" And she told her where he was. He lay alone in the simple room, when Mary entered--a diminutive patient for whom the narrow cot looked large. The nurse had been showing him a picture-book, and this yawned loosely on the quilt, where it had slid from his listless hold. At the sound of Mary's approach, he turned. But he did not recognise her. A doubtful gaze appraised her intentions.