Awkwardly the Senior Surgeon pulled away and began to pace the floor.
"You're a—good little girl, Rae Malgregor," he mumbled huskily. "A good little girl. I truly believe you're the kind that will—see me through." Poignantly in his eyes humiliation overwhelmed the mist. Perversely in its turn resentment overtook the humiliation. "But I won't be married in June!" he reasserted bombastically. "I won't! I won't! I won't! I tell you I positively refuse to have a lot of damn fools speculating about my private affairs! Wondering why I didn't take you! Wondering why I didn't stay home with you! I tell you I won't! I simply won't!"
"Yes, sir," stammered the White Linen Nurse.
With a real gasp of relief the Senior Surgeon stopped his eternal pacing of the floor.
"Bully for you!" he said. "You mean then we'll be married some time in
July after I get back from my—trip?"
"Oh, no, sir," stammered the White Linen Nurse.
"But Great Heavens!" shouted the Senior Surgeon.
"Yes, sir," the White Linen Nurse began all over again. Dreamily planning out her wedding gown, her lips without the slightest conscious effort on her part were already curving into shape for her alternate "No, sir."
"You're an idiot!" snapped the Senior Surgeon.
A little reproachfully the White Linen Nurse came frowning out of her reverie. "Would it do just as well for traveling, do you think?" she asked, with real concern.