XXI.
It was the last day of Glory's probation, and, dressed in the long blue ulster in which she came from the Isle of Man, she was standing in the matron's room waiting for her wages and discharge. The matron was sitting sideways at her table, with her dog snarling in her lap. She pointed to a tiny heap of gold and silver and to a foolscap paper which lay beside it.
“That is your month's salary, nurse, and this is your 'character.' The 'character' has given me a deal of trouble. I have done all I could for you. I have said you were bright and cheerful, and that the patients liked you. I trust I have not committed myself too far.”
Glory gathered up the money, but left the “character” untouched.
“You need not be anxious, ma'am; I shall not require it.”
“Have you got a situation?”
“No.”
“Then where are you going next?”
“I don't know—yet.”
“How much money have you saved?”