"Yes. The shell dropped squarely on it. We got her out from under the wreckage after putting out the fire. She was killed instantly," said the surgeon. "You are not frightened, Miss Fielding?"
"Why—yes," she said gravely. "I have, however, been frightened before. We have had night air raids at Clair. But, as Charlie Bragg says, 'I have not been killed yet.'"
"That is the way to look at it," he said cheerfully. "It's the only way. Back in all our minds is the expectation of sudden death, I suppose. Only—if it is sudden! That is what we pray for—if it is to come."
"I know," Ruth said softly. "But let us keep from thinking of it. Who is this lady?" she asked a moment later.
"Ah!" said the gentlemanly surgeon, seeing the figure in the doorway of the new supply hut. "It is our matron, Mrs. Strang. A lovely lady. I will leave you to her kindness."
He introduced the girl to the elderly woman, who examined Ruth with frank curiosity as she entered the hut.
"You are a real American, I presume," the woman said, smiling.
"I hope so."
"Not to be frightened by what has happened here already?"
"We expect such sad happenings, do we not?"