Carlotta did not reply at once. The candle was in her hand, and she was staring at the letter.
"Because I want to do it myself," she said at last, and thrust the envelope into the flame. It burned slowly, at first a thin blue flame tipped with yellow, then, eating its way with a small fine crackling, a widening, destroying blaze that left behind it black ash and destruction. The acrid odor of burning filled the room. Not until it was consumed, and the black ash fell into the saucer of the candlestick, did Carlotta speak again. Then:--
"If every fool of a woman who wrote a letter burnt it, there would be less trouble in the world," she said, and lay back among her pillows.
The a.s.sistant said nothing. She was sleepy and irritated, and she had crushed her best cap by letting the lid of Carlotta"s trunk fall on her.
She went out of the room with disapproval in every line of her back.
"She burned it," she informed the night nurse at her desk. "A letter to a man--one of her suitors, I suppose. The name was K. Le Moyne."
The deepening and broadening of Sidney"s character had been very noticeable in the last few months. She had gained in decision without becoming hard; had learned to see things as they are, not through the rose mist of early girlhood; and, far from being daunted, had developed a philosophy that had for its basis G.o.d in His heaven and all well with the world.
But her new theory of acceptance did not comprehend everything. She was in a state of wild revolt, for instance, as to Johnny Rosenfeld, and more remotely but not less deeply concerned over Grace Irving. Soon she was to learn of Tillie"s predicament, and to take up the cudgels valiantly for her.
But her revolt was to be for herself too. On the day after her failure to keep her appointment with Wilson she had her half-holiday. No word had come from him, and when, after a restless night, she went to her new station in the operating-room, it was to learn that he had been called out of the city in consultation and would not operate that day. O"Hara would take advantage of the free afternoon to run in some odds and ends of cases.
The operating-room made gauze that morning, and small packets of tampons: absorbent cotton covered with sterilized gauze, and fastened together--twelve, by careful count, in each bundle.
Miss Grange, who had been kind to Sidney in her probation months, taught her the method.
"Used instead of sponges," she explained. "If you noticed yesterday, they were counted before and after each operation. One of these missing is worse than a bank clerk out a dollar at the end of the day. There"s no closing up until it"s found!"
Sidney eyed the small packet before her anxiously.
"What a hideous responsibility!" she said.
From that time on she handled the small gauze sponges almost reverently.
The operating-room--all gla.s.s, white enamel, and shining nickel-plate--first frightened, then thrilled her. It was as if, having loved a great actor, she now trod the enchanted boards on which he achieved his triumphs. She was glad that it was her afternoon off, and that she would not see some lesser star--O"Hara, to wit--usurping his place.
But Max had not sent her any word. That hurt. He must have known that she had been delayed.
The operating-room was a hive of industry, and tongues kept pace with fingers. The hospital was a world, like the Street. The nurses had come from many places, and, like cloistered nuns, seemed to have left the other world behind. A new President of the country was less real than a new interne. The country might wash its soiled linen in public; what was that compared with enough sheets and towels for the wards? Big buildings were going up in the city. Ah! but the hospital took cognizance of that, gathering as it did a toll from each new story added. What news of the world came in through the great doors was translated at once into hospital terms. What the city forgot the hospital remembered. It took up life where the town left it at its gates, and carried it on or saw it ended, as the case might be. So these young women knew the ending of many stories, the beginning of some; but of none did they know both the first and last, the beginning and the end.
By many small kindnesses Sidney had made herself popular. And there was more to it than that. She never shirked. The other girls had the respect for her of one honest worker for another. The episode that had caused her suspension seemed entirely forgotten. They showed her carefully what she was to do; and, because she must know the "why" of everything, they explained as best they could.
It was while she was standing by the great sterilizer that she heard, through an open door, part of a conversation that sent her through the day with her world in revolt.
The talkers were putting the anaesthetizing-room in readiness for the afternoon. Sidney, waiting for the time to open the sterilizer, was busy, for the first time in her hurried morning, with her own thoughts.
Because she was very human, there was a little exultation in her mind.
What would these girls say when they learned of how things stood between her and their hero--that, out of all his world of society and clubs and beautiful women, he was going to choose her?
Not shameful, this: the honest pride of a woman in being chosen from many.
The voices were very clear.
"Typhoid! Of course not. She"s eating her heart out."
"Do you think he has really broken with her?"
"Probably not. She knows it"s coming; that"s all."
"Sometimes I have wondered--"
"So have others. She oughtn"t to be here, of course. But among so many there is bound to be one now and then who--who isn"t quite--"
She hesitated, at a loss for a word.
"Did you--did you ever think over that trouble with Miss Page about the medicines? That would have been easy, and like her."
"She hates Miss Page, of course, but I hardly think--If that"s true, it was nearly murder."
There were two voices, a young one, full of soft southern inflections, and an older voice, a trifle hard, as from disillusion.
They were working as they talked. Sidney could hear the clatter of bottles on the tray, the sc.r.a.ping of a moved table.
"He was crazy about her last fall."
"Miss Page?" (The younger voice, with a thrill in it.)
"Carlotta. Of course this is confidential."
"Surely."
"I saw her with him in his car one evening. And on her vacation last summer--"
The voices dropped to a whisper. Sidney, standing cold and white by the sterilizer, put out a hand to steady herself. So that was it! No wonder Carlotta had hated her. And those whispering voices! What were they saying? How hateful life was, and men and women. Must there always be something hideous in the background? Until now she had only seen life.
Now she felt its hot breath on her cheek.
She was steady enough in a moment, cool and calm, moving about her work with ice-cold hands and slightly narrowed eyes. To a sort of physical nausea was succeeding anger, a blind fury of injured pride. He had been in love with Carlotta and had tired of her. He was bringing her his warmed-over emotions. She remembered the bitterness of her month"s exile, and its probable cause. Max had stood by her then. Well he might, if he suspected the truth.
For just a moment she had an illuminating flash of Wilson as he really was, selfish and self-indulgent, just a trifle too carefully dressed, daring as to eye and speech, with a carefully calculated daring, frankly pleasure-loving. She put her hands over her eyes.
The voices in the next room had risen above their whisper.
"Genius has privileges, of course," said the older voice. "He is a very great surgeon. To-morrow he is to do the Edwardes operation again. I am glad I am to see him do it."
Sidney still held her hands over her eyes. He WAS a great surgeon: in his hands he held the keys of life and death. And perhaps he had never cared for Carlotta: she might have thrown herself at him. He was a man, at the mercy of any scheming woman.
She tried to summon his image to her aid. But a curious thing happened.
She could not visualize him. Instead, there came, clear and distinct, a picture of K. Le Moyne in the hall of the little house, reaching one of his long arms to the chandelier over his head and looking up at her as she stood on the stairs.
CHAPTER XXII
"My G.o.d, Sidney, I"m asking you to marry me!"