"Not you!" the matron cried. "You have too much sense, I hope, my dear. Those who go to France for service on the battlefields take their lives in their hands."
"But so we do if we go into some of those East Side tenements to nurse contagious cases," the girl said quietly. "And the Red Cross nurses do such a noble work—don't you think so?"
"Sentimentalism!" snapped Mrs. Blythe. "I hope all my girls have too much sense."
Belinda shook her head, but made no rejoinder, although she could not subscribe to the matron's tenets.
At the moment, too, her mind was given to thoughts of the young man out of the air. She followed to the private room engaged for his comfort, and helped the attendant put him to bed.
CHAPTER II
THE WRECK OF HIS HOUSE OF CARDS
Sanderson awoke with the sun streaming in through the high window and lying like a golden mantle flung across the floor and bed. Otherwise everything in the room seemed glaringly white. It was mid-afternoon, and the westering orb had full command of this side of the hospital wing.
He knew at once where he was. There was no wild start and "Where am I?" cry. He merely looked up at the rather sturdy figure in voluminous apron and cap standing within the range of his vision, and grinned.
"I say," he croaked, "that must have been some bump. How hot I am! Can I have a drink, Nurse?"