Diana's progress down the corridor partook of the nature of an ovation. From one room to another she went, and was welcomed by patients, many of whom made periodical visits to "Harbor Light"—which was the picturesque name Anthony had given his house because, as he explained, it was to be a beacon to such derelicts as drifted there. There were men and women of wealth who came to be fortified for another season of excitement, and there were men and women to whom the doctor gave lodging and his skill without financial recompense. But no one knew to whom such charity was extended, and all were equal in care and treatment.
Most of the nurses, too, had been there long enough to know the inspiration and uplift which was brought by the gracious lady in the white gown.
When the patients asked, "Who is she?" the reply was whispered, "Diana Gregory. Everybody hopes she'll marry the doctor. He's dead in love with her."
At last Diana slipped away, promising to come again soon to look at the weaving, to see the new pottery—
"But not now," she insisted, brightly; "there's some one waiting for me down-stairs."
She found Bettina still sitting stiffly on the edge of the chair. She had sent Justin back to Sophie, and a nurse had taken away the lilacs. All the glory had gone out of her morning when Anthony had asked for Diana.
"Why didn't he want me?" she demanded, when Diana came toward her with an eager apology. "Why didn't Anthony want me?"
"My dear, he always wants you, but there's an operation on now."
"On that girl with appendicitis?"
"Yes."