"Comfortable?" asked Aunt Jane. She ran her hand along the querulous forehead and straightened the clothes a little. "You'll feel better pretty soon now."
"Stay with me," said the woman sharply.
Aunt Jane shook her head: "I'll be back by and by. You lie still and be good. That's the way to get well."
She drifted from the room and the woman's eyes closed slowly. Something of the fretted look had left her face.
Aunt Jane stepped out into the wide, sun-lit corridor and moved serenely on. Her tall figure and plump back had a comfortable look as she went.
One of the men in the ward had said that Aunt Jane went on casters; and it was the Irishman in the bed next him who had retorted: "It's wings that you mean—two little wings to the feet of her—or however could she get along, at all, without putting foot to the floor!"
However she managed it, Aunt Jane came and went noiselessly; and when she chose, she could move from one end of the corridor to the other as swiftly as if indeed there had been "two little wings to the feet of her."
She was not hurrying now. She stopped at one or two doors for a glance, gave directions to a nurse who passed with a tray, and went leisurely on to the office.
Over by the window, Dr. Carmon, his gloves in his hand, was standing with his back to the room, waiting.
Aunt Jane glanced at the back and sat down. "Did you want to see me?" she inquired pleasantly.