"I know, and feel the same way, Rose. But it seems to me that a smile—at least one like yours—isn't so much the visible expression of joy, as it is a symbol of cheer for others ... like a rainbow. There, I vowed that I wouldn't, and now I've 'gone and went and done it.'"
Miss Roberts spoke lightly, to cover a suspicious huskiness in her voice, for she worshipped the girl who had been so close to her for three years, and whose way and hers would necessarily diverge after that morning.
"Don't you dare to forget how to smile. We all love it," she added, with an assumption of a bullying tone; and then the two held each other very close and laughed and cried, both together, for a moment. They finished dressing in unusual silence, for the thoughts of each were busy with the things which the day and the future might bring forth for them.
Contrary to custom, Dorothy finished first, and preceded Rose downstairs.
When the latter reached the little assembly room, she found a small group of pupil nurses standing in the doorway. One was reading something from a page of a sensational afternoon newspaper, dated the day previous, and, as Smiles joined them, she hastily slipped it out of sight behind her. All of them appeared so self-conscious, that the new arrival stopped with a queer tightening about her heart.
"Show it to her," said Dorothy, quietly. "She's bound to hear of it sooner or later."
The sinking sensation within Rose's breast increased, and she stepped forward, saying faintly, "What is it, Dolly? Not ... not Dr. MacDonald? Nothing has happened ...?"
"No, dear. That is ... well, it concerns him; but I think that, if anything, he is to be congratulated. It is something to find out.... Here, read it yourself."
She took the paper from the owner, and handed it to Rose.
It was the page devoted to happenings in society, and from the top centre looked forth a two-column cut of Marion Treville's strikingly beautiful face. Beneath was a stick of text, which read: