“It would but frighten her, and make her uneasy,” he told himself; “no, it is too soon.”
So May went back to St. Phillip’s with Sister Margaret, and when Webster saw her again she was dressed in the black gown and white cap and apron of a nurse. She looked, however, so charming in this costume that he could not conceal his admiration.
“You look like—well, what shall I say?” he said, smiling. “A sister of light.”
“Do you mean an angel?” answered May, smiling also. “Ah, I wish I felt like one.”
“And how do you really like the life?” went on Webster, with his dark eyes still fixed on her fair face.
“There are painful things, of course,” hesitated May, “but still you always feel that you are helping someone, and that is something.”
“But I hope they do not give you any hard work; any disagreeable work?”
“They are very good to me,” answered May, softly; “everyone has been very good, and as for you, Mr. Webster—”
“Being good is not in my way,” answered Webster, hastily turning away his head.