"We were speaking of husbands, not babies, you know." The irrepressible nurse persisted. "They are closely related but not the same thing. That is, unless the wife, as many of them do, insists upon making a baby of her husband." Husbands! Babies! Where was this strange conversation leading? Again an annoyed Virginia felt herself flush beneath the amused eyes of this very complacent young person. With a rush, horrible thoughts of the youth upstairs, surely suffering, possibly dying, through her fault, obsessed her. Yet this nurse could look at one with hazel eyes dancing with merriment. The mill owner's daughter whirled to a window, but, regardless of her efforts, the tears came. She heard the nurse move. In a moment a hand touched her shoulder and a kind voice whispered, "Dearie, you are all broken up, aren't you? It's a shock from the accident. I should have remembered. Let me get you something?" "No,--no," protested Virginia, dissolved in tears. "It's not medicine I need. Oh, if I could only be sure that poor fellow isn't going to die. I will never have a happy moment the rest of my life if he does." She raised her tear drenched face. "I wanted to make people happy, not to bring sorrow or trouble to any one. And now," she sobbed, "I've killed a man." "Don't be silly, girlie. You couldn't kill a flea, let alone a man. Accidents will happen. We get hundreds of such cases every month." "You don't get motorcyclists though. They are injured while riding at fearful speed." "Oh yes, we do. I don't mean to criticise your friend but most motorcyclists are dreadfully reckless." "He isn't my friend. I told you that I don't know him," grieved Virginia. "Why worry so, then? I heard the doctor say that it was not a serious case myself." "He was concealing something. Anyway, it is wrong of us to say unkind things about the poor fellow when he has no friends to help him," Virginia concluded with a note of defiance. "_Have_ we?" the nurse responded, "I think that I said,--you may remember--that motorcyclists are reckless." "But," sobbed the unhappy girl, "I thought it, too." "He wouldn't care about it, anyway," argued the nurse soothingly. "Cheer up, he'll soon be well. I never remember a motorcyclist dying in this hospital. They are either killed outright," she explained in a matter of fact tone, "or they soon recover. They have so many accidents learning to ride, I suppose, that they get toughened. I don't mean that they are tough fellows," she explained hastily, fearful that Virginia might deem the remark unkind. "I mean that one must be young, and strong, and hard, to run one of the things." Virginia's tears had ceased to flow. "I should think that a motorcyclist would have to be--quick--and graceful," she interrupted, and then ended, "--and very brave," being, evidently much uplifted by the nurse's remarks.