His pink cheeks were pinker than ever and his eyes bluer. Once again Barbara decided that he was a glorified, grown-up baby. He held a little spray of mignonette in his hand which he tossed toward the little dancer.
“She is Nicolete,” he whispered excitedly. “At least that is what I have chosen to call her. No one knows who she is or where she comes from, only that she dances for us here nearly every afternoon at this hour.”
CHAPTER VIII
Who Goes There?
Eugenia stayed later at the hospital than she expected. The patient she had left a few hours before was not so well and wished her to be with him. So she sat holding the boy’s hand and talking to him gently until he had fallen asleep. It was curious that Eugenia, who was always so stern with well persons, was wonderfully sympathetic with her patients. She was firm, of course, but only when she felt it necessary for their good. For Eugenia was not a “butterfly” nurse, the name that has been applied to the fashionable society women who have been caring for the wounded as much for their own entertainment as the soldiers’ good.
So somehow, in spite of her American French, the boy she had been tending preferred her to remain by him rather than his own countrywoman.
She was very tired when she slipped away. She had come to the field hospital at eight o’clock in the morning, worked until four, then spent two hours in the trenches and afterwards another two hours at nursing again. For it was after eight o’clock when she started for home.
Naturally no one appreciated that Eugenia was returning alone. Of course, in war times the Red Cross nurses had grown accustomed to caring for themselves as well as other persons. Nevertheless, this evening the circumstances were unusual. Eugenia was a stranger in a strange land. She had only recently come to this portion of France, was unfamiliar with the country, which was filled with regiments of soldiers. Moreover, the night was uncomfortably dark. Had the doctors or attendants at the field hospital known of her departure, one of them would have insisted upon accompanying her.
However, no one is sensible when tired. So for some reason, although a little nervous at the prospect ahead of her, Eugenia got away without being seen. She was determined to give no trouble. Of course, if she had been Barbara, or Nona, or Mildred she would have considered it fool-hardy, almost wicked, to have attempted walking a mile in the darkness alone. But with Eugenia Peabody the case was different. No one had ever thought of looking after her in her life, and surely no one would begin now.
The first part of her trip home was along a path through the open fields. As Eugenia hurried on toward their little adopted home she began wondering if the girls had missed her at supper time. This was the pleasantest hour in all their day. Then possibly because she was weary she decided that they had probably been glad to be relieved of her presence. For no one of the American Red Cross girls really cared much for her. Of this Eugenia was convinced. Nona and Mildred both tried to be kind and Barbara behaved as well as she could, except on occasions when she felt especially antagonistic.