"Don't!" He smiled, full of sympathy. "Believe in his star." His tone changed to the professional. "Would you like to go off duty, Sister? I will speak to the Matron. A car is going into town. Go and look at the shops."
"No—no, Doctor, thank you very much. I won't leave my dear boys here. Poor lads! it does me good to fight for them—almost as if——" she stopped, turned away.
"Very well, Sister. Send for me if any change occurs in Number Ten."
The M.O. walked down the ward, throwing little glances at the silent patients, and departed.
For some little time the Sister busied herself noiselessly about the ward. Then Number Ten stirred uneasily in his bed.
"Sister!" he called in a faint voice.
She was by his side in an instant.
"A drink, please!"
She gave it him, looked down on the young, strongly masculine features as he drank, with an interest that was subtly, unconsciously more than professional. From the moment of his arrival in the ward—even in his silences—Number Ten had been a personality. Though powerless in bed there was a curious hint of brute force in him.
"Now you must go to sleep again, Captain Lavering," she said, smoothing his pillow.