She had wanted him to see the ward like this; and she had wanted him to see Jimmie Sullivan's new leg. And, most of all, she had wanted a good excuse for persuading Herman Medfield to try his strength a little.... If Dr. Carmon's new patient was to have Suite A on Friday, there was no time to waste; and Herman Medfield had been obstinate in refusing to exert himself.
"I'm very comfortable where I am!" he had declared. And he had refused to budge, or to wear anything except the æsthetic, blue quilted gown.
It was only by deep guilelessness that Aunt Jane had succeeded in bringing him as far as the door of the Children's Ward.
Herman Medfield's glance followed the motion of her hand and rested on the roses. It grew interested as it travelled slowly through the ward to the faces of the children. He was taking in the clean, cool look of the place and the sunlight coming in and the happiness that shone everywhere. It was not what he had imagined the Children's Ward in a hospital would be.... And he had a suspicion that all Children's Wards were not like this—a suspicion that the woman beside him had more to do with the quiet charm of the room than one might have guessed from the unconcerned look of her face.
Beyond the ward, opening out through big doors and the low, wide windows, he had a glimpse of a balcony—with growing plants along its edge and a striped awning; and drifting clouds and the blue sky beyond the awning. His glance came back to his roses in the centre of the room. They were a great bunch of the choicest ones that grew in his garden. They looked very well there, he admitted.
"But I did not intend them for the Children's Ward—" he said, turning and looking down at her.
"I told them Mr. Herman sent them," said Aunt Jane. "I knew you'd like them to have 'em. They take comfort with 'em, you see." She nodded to a child who was lying with her eyes fixed on the flowers. There was a patient look in the small, shrewd face.
"She likes 'em," said Aunt Jane. "They'll do her a world of good!"
She avoided Herman Medfield's eye. She had been a little surprised to find that it was difficult to meet his gaze.... He was almost like a stranger—dressed in the gray business suit and looking down on her with keen, clear eyes.... She had forgotten that Herman Medfield was tall. As she had remembered him, that first day when she went into the waiting-room with his card in her hand, he had not been so tall. She seemed to remember that she had looked down on him and had put him in his place—easily.... Perhaps his thinness made him seem taller—or was it the little triumphing twinkle that had crept into his eyes.
Aunt Jane refused to see the twinkle. She felt sorry for Herman Medfield—somewhere in the back of her mind.