“It's the truth. To think of selecting out of all the world one woman, and electing to spend the rest of one's days with her! Although—”
His eyes looked past Carlotta into distance.
“Sidney Page was one of the bridesmaids,” he said irrelevantly. “She was lovelier than the bride.”
“Pretty, but stupid,” said Carlotta. “I like her. I've really tried to teach her things, but—you know—” She shrugged her shoulders.
Dr. Max was learning wisdom. If there was a twinkle in his eye, he veiled it discreetly. But, once again in the machine, he bent over and put his cheek against hers.
“You little cat! You're jealous,” he said exultantly.
Nevertheless, although he might smile, the image of Sidney lay very close to his heart those autumn days. And Carlotta knew it.
Sidney came off night duty the middle of November. The night duty had been a time of comparative peace to Carlotta. There were no evenings when Dr. Max could bring Sidney back to the hospital in his car.
Sidney's half-days at home were occasions for agonies of jealousy on Carlotta's part. On such an occasion, a month after the wedding, she could not contain herself. She pleaded her old excuse of headache, and took the trolley to a point near the end of the Street. After twilight fell, she slowly walked the length of the Street. Christine and Palmer had not returned from their wedding journey. The November evening was not cold, and on the little balcony sat Sidney and Dr. Max. K. was there, too, had she only known it, sitting back in the shadow and saying little, his steady eyes on Sidney's profile.
But this Carlotta did not know. She went on down the Street in a frenzy of jealous anger.