"Has the doctor's treatment of the case anything to do with it, do you think?"
She smiled and shook her head.
"No, there isn't much one can do in typhoid, it's mainly a question of what not to do. I only hesitated because we—the other nurse and I—both think it a little odd that Sir Charles, who's an old man, should have such a mild case, when the type that's going around is rather severe."
"Oh, I see. Well, I suppose there's no accounting for these things, is there?"
"No, and in any case we can't complain, can we?"
He liked her laugh and the frank way she looked at him. Her eyes were as clear as a sunny pool that mirrored brown leaves. He liked, too, the freshness of her skin, and her rather square white teeth, with a tiny space separating the middle two. They made her look so honest. It was a friendly, fearless face, yet there was sensitiveness about it, evident from the way the colour mounted into the cheeks at the closeness of his scrutiny.
"Where do you come from?" he asked suddenly.
"Manitoba," was the prompt reply, "the western part."
"Oh—the plains?"
"Yes, but I'm astonished at your knowing."