'Number——' said both the maidens in concert. The elderly major in khaki—who in peace-time was the leading doctor of a Shropshire country town—could not help smiling at the two lassies, and their bright looks.
'You don't seem particularly sorry to come back!' he said.
'Oh, we're tired of holidays,' said the taller of the two, with a laugh.
'People at home think they're so busy, and—-'
'You think they're doing nothing?'
'Well, it don't seem much, when you've been out here!' said the girl more gravely—'and when you know what there is to do!'
'Aye, aye,' said the man in front. 'We could do with hundreds more of your sort. Hope you preached to your friends.'
'We did!' said both, each with the same young steady voice.
'Here we are—Stop, please.'
For the motor had turned aside to climb the hill into the semicircle. On all sides now were rows of low buildings—hospital huts—hospital marquees—stores—canteens. Close to the motor, as it came to a stand-still, the door of a great marquee stood open, and Bridget could see within, a lighted hospital ward, with rows of beds, men in scarlet bed-jackets, sitting or lying on them—flowers—nurses moving about. The scene was like some bright and delicate illumination on the dark.
'I shall have to take you a bit further on,' said the major to Bridget, as the two young nurses waved farewell. 'We've got a room in the hotel for you. And Dr. Howson will come for you in the morning. He thought that would be more satisfactory both for you and the patient than that you should go to the hospital to-night.'