“I suppose so; at least, I imagine she is obliged to do something for her own support, and perhaps, having a love for this profession, she chose it in preference to anything else.” Dr. Winthrop looked thoughtful, but did not speak again until they reached Dr. Hunt’s office, when he took leave of him, and departed to meet his friend, Dr. Cutler, and begin his tour of investigation in the different institutions of the city. Two days later he made another call upon Salome, and thought her somewhat better. He chatted nearly an hour, and was surprised to find her as cultivated mentally as she was beautiful personally. He took pains to draw her out, and Salome, delighted to find her companion so genial and interesting, forgot herself and was really charming. “She is far too lovely to bury herself in a sick-room—nursing is too hard, too thankless a task for one so gifted, mentally and physically, as she,” the young man mused as he left her. The next morning a basket of luscious fruit and a great cluster of Maréchal Niel roses found their way to Salome’s room, and in the midst of the latter, she discovered a card bearing the name of “T. H. Winthrop, M. D.” She seemed greatly changed from the sad-eyed, grave-faced girl who had applied for entrance to the hospital as a nurse on that dismal November day. She was brighter and more animated in her manner; there was always a happy smile on her lips, a brilliant, almost joyous light in her eyes, and yet she did not seem to gain strength. The slightest exertion set her panting like a frightened hare. If she attempted to walk from her bed to her chair she would be exhausted, almost fainting from the effort, and Dr. Hunt was greatly exercised over her peculiar symptoms. “If this experiment of mine should develop an affection of the heart, I should find it hard to forgive myself for having taken her blood,” he muttered one day on leaving her, after imagining that he had detected signs of such a disorder. Dr. Winthrop went almost every day to see her, and always with some dainty offering of fruit or flowers, or perchance some entertaining book or periodical—these latter were often productive of an interesting discussion—and when he was unable to pay his usual call, he sent some reminder of himself. Salome was very generous with these gifts, and shared them with many a suffering patient, but she was never without some bud or spray of these precious mementos in her hands or on her breast, while every day she became more and more conscious that she was growing to love the giver even to the verge of idolatry.