“Good-morning, madam,” said the physician, with a cold and distant bow; and to the students, “We’ll pass right along to the other side,” and they moved into the next aisle.
“I am a little pressed for time this morning,” he presently remarked, as the students showed some unwillingness to be hurried. As soon as he could he parted with them and returned to the ward alone.
As he moved again down among the sick, straight along this time, turning neither to right nor left, one of the Sisters of Charity—the hospital and its so-called nurses are under their oversight—touched his arm. He stopped impatiently.
“Well, Sister”—(bowing his ear).
“I—I—the—the”—His frown had scared away her power of speech.
“Well, what is it, Sister?”
“The—the last patient down on this side”—
He was further displeased. “I’ll attend to the patients, Sister,” he said; and then, more kindly, “I’m going there now. No, you stay here, if you please.” And he left her behind.
He came and stood by the bed. The patient gazed on him.
“Mrs. Richling,” he softly began, and had to cease.