“Yes, there were a good many women in the University, and a few in the medical school, where I finally finished.”
“I expect you had lots of friends, didn’t you, Jimmy? I should think you would—men and women friends both. And I suppose there were all kinds of good times—parties and dances and picnics.”
Doctor Burton turned suddenly to look at her. “What in the world are you driving at now?”
“Please, Jimmy,” she said wistfully, “I want to know.”
And something made him look away again.
“I suppose I had my share of friends,” he answered. “And there was a reasonable amount of fun, as there always is at school, you know. But we—most of us—worked hard, too.”
“Yes,” she returned quickly, “and you dreamed and planned the great things you would do in the world when your school days should be over, and, in spite of all your friends and the good times, you could hardly wait to begin—yes, I am sure that is the way it would be.”
Saint Jimmy did not speak.
“And when your school days were finished, and you were actually a doctor in a big city, you still had lots of men and women friends, and you found a little time, now and then, for parties and—and dinners and such things, didn’t you, Jimmy?”
Saint Jimmy smiled, a patient, shadowy smile as he answered: