There seemed to be endless subjects of conversation between them, of which neither grew weary. Yet now and then they would walk beside each other or in single file, not speaking for a quarter of an hour or more.
There was no suggestion of an emotion between them. Philip Dawson had never said anything which Nona could construe in any such fashion. He was the most restful and at the same time the most stimulating friend she had ever known. There was none of the restlessness and the changing tempers she had felt in her brief interest in Eugino Zoli.
It was only that if Nona had an idea, she was anxious to know if Mr. Dawson thought it worth while, or if she were ill or tired she wished to count upon his sympathy. But she was not selfish in this. She knew that Philip Dawson came to her as freely and that he insisted his talks with her inspired him to better work and to a wiser judgment of people and affairs.
However, on this particular afternoon when Nona had only two hours to give to their walk, he had kept her waiting for half an hour. In spite of her effort toward keeping a perfectly reasonable attitude in their friendship, Nona felt undeniably cross.
Moreover, when Philip Dawson arrived there was no pretense of an apology.
“We will not be able to walk any distance this afternoon, there is something very special I have to tell you. Only we must get away from the hospital and in some place where no one will be able to hear us,” he began at once in a rather business-like manner to which Nona was unaccustomed.
However, Nona immediately found herself in a properly humble and obedient state of mind, with none of the feeling of resentment or of opposition which Lieutenant Martin more often than not aroused in her.
Having come out to the hospital gate to wait for him in the fresh air, and being prepared to be politely reproachful, instead Nona made no reply except to walk quickly along beside her companion, wondering what possible serious thing he could have to tell her.
One of the great reliefs of their friendship had been that they were not often serious together for any great length of time. For, however serious the subject of their conversation might be for a few moments, there was soon the relief of a gently humorous point of view.
But today there was no suggestion of anything except gravity in Philip Dawson’s face and Nona felt slightly uneasy. But she did not feel deeply so; really there did not appear to be any cause that could seriously interfere with their understanding of each other, and this was, of course, the important thing. Neither did Nona realize that this was an unusual conviction on her part concerning a friend whom she had known so short a time, nor as a matter of fact did she really know anything of his personal history, except what he had told her himself.