Having endeavored to relieve his guest’s embarrassment, he turned upon Miss Knight, the greatly delighted cause of it, and adapted his manner and speech to her case. “Say, sister, blow. Blow while the breeze will toss you away. I haven’t noticed any invitations for you to sit in on this peace conference.”
The nurse flared at his words, although his smile had tempered them. Drawing herself up, she made answer with great dignity.
“You don’t need to urge me not to hang around while your wounds are being dressed with soothing lotions. It’s not necessary to hit me with an automobile to get me out of the way,” she exclaimed with great sarcasm, and flounced away.
“The gloom of night departs,” he chuckled, and, turning dancing eyes upon his visitor, continued softly, “and now comes dawn.”
Virginia flushed again. “For all that you know, it may be stormy,” she retorted, astonished at her own glib tongue. The merry banter of the patient and nurse had surprised her. She had been taught that this sort of thing was vulgar. Yet, somehow, it didn’t seem so dreadful. She suspected that she rather liked it and was troubled by this symptom of innate depravity. Now she became aware that those black eyes were studying her, and mischief gleamed in their depths.
“Our meeting was very sudden yesterday,” he laughed. “I didn’t have a chance to give you my card. My name is Joseph Tolliver Curtis. Those who–” he hesitated and then went on–“are my friends, call me Joe.” Happiness radiated from him. He was so good humored that it was contagious.
The visitor beamed upon the patient. “My name is Virginia Dale,” she explained.
“I know it,” he admitted, and then, with the manner of intense personal interest, he demanded, “Do your friends–your intimate friends–by any chance call you ‘Virge’?”
“I should say not.” The girl’s eyes flashed as she retorted, “They would hear from me.”
“By letter,” he inquired, “or telephone?” In a moment he continued, “I have it. You will sing to them just as you are going to sing to me.”