“I’ll call you ‘Sister,’” he said at length. “That’s what the patients at the hospital call the nurse, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a nurse,” she replied. “I’ve torn your collar in getting it open, and I’ve dripped water all down your coat.”
“I bumped into you when I fell, didn’t I?” he asked, trying to recollect what had happened.
“Yes,” she answered. “I thought you were drunk.”
“Thanks awfully,” he said.
“Have you any friends to look after you?” she enquired presently.
“No, nobody, Sister,” he replied. “Have you?”
She shook her head. “I hardly know anybody, either. I’m a painter. I’ve just come over from Italy to do some work.” She fetched a towel from the washing-stand. “Now, hold your head up, and let me dry your neck.”
“I suppose you don’t happen to have a brandy and soda about you?” he asked, when she had tidied him up. He was feeling very fairly well again, but sorely in need of a stimulant.
“I’ll go and get you one,” she replied; and before he could make any polite protest she had left the room.