"Kind girl," the nurse complimented her, and then, as from a wealth of experience, explained, "I never knew a man who disliked to hold hands. Certainly a motorcyclist would have no compunctions about it. Don't worry about fever in this case." "You are laughing at me again. You love to tease me," protested Virginia. "I can't help it after seeing that motorcyclist." "Why should you laugh about him? Poor fellow, he suffers so." "Yes, I suppose he does, but his appearance does not draw sympathy. They've dressed him up in pink pajamas. He's a great big fellow and his eyes--" "Are black," announced Virginia with great assurance. "Yes, but how on earth did you know it?" "He looked up at me," Virginia confessed soberly. "Looked up at you? Please tell me when? While you were holding his hand?" "No." The girl spoke with great gentleness, as if in a dream she reënacted the scene she described. "His head was lying in my lap and suddenly he opened his eyes and looked up at me for a moment--and closed them." The nurse choked with suppressed laughter. "I thought," she rippled, "that it was a collision of vehicles, not of hearts." "How very silly," thought Virginia, and regarding the nurse coldly, she said aloud, "I'll go now. I am sorry to have been so much trouble to you." Unmoved by the change in the mood of the visitor, the nurse accompanied her to the door. "You'll be coming back to see your patient?" she suggested. "I suppose I should," Virginia mused. Her coolness towards the nurse melted. "It would be dreadfully embarrassing to visit a strange man." "I can help you. I go back to ward duty tomorrow and will have charge of the surgical cases. I'll know him by the time you call." "That will be fine. I'll bring him something to eat." A further courtesy occurred to Virginia. "Would you let him know, please, that I waited to be sure that he was as comfortable as possible?" "That has been done," the nurse told her. "When I was up stairs I explained to him that you were waiting, in almost your very words." The curiosity of her sex beset the mill owner's daughter. "Did he say anything about it?" she questioned. Great merriment, promptly subdued, shook the nurse. "I should hardly call it 'anything.' Of course, I could not question him in his condition. I caught two words. Perhaps I misunderstood them." "What were they?" "He said"--again the nurse was shaken by concealed amusement--"something which sounded to me like"--she hesitated to regain control of her feelings--"Some chicken." "Poor fellow," sympathized compassionate Virginia. "He is hungry. Serena fries chicken deliciously, and he shall have some of it." As she hurried away, she wondered what it was that had amused the nurse so much that she could not overcome a final outburst. CHAPTER VI IKE EXPLAINS