Geoffrey was indignant. “Do you think I’m going to let you stay here while every Dick, Tom, and Dago Henry proposes to you?”
“Better eat your breakfast, Sonny.”
“Sonny,” Geoffrey flounced over, his face to the wall. “I don’t care for any breakfast, thank you.”
“All right, I’ll take the tray away in a minute,” and with a knowing smile she left the room.
Geoffrey was twenty-one, possessing all the impetuousness and dignity accessory to that age. He had offered his love and had been laughed at. She had called him “Sonny.”
Yet, during those three past weeks of antiseptic nightmare she had been extremely kind to him. Perhaps she loved some one else. At the thought Geoffrey became quite disconsolate.
But finally he turned over and his eyes fell upon the breakfast tray laid temptingly beside his bed. A ravenous hunger assailed him. He pulled the tray onto the bed and began to eat. After all, things were not so bad. A woman always had to be coaxed.
Meanwhile Miss Young was talking it over with a sister nurse at breakfast in the nurses’ quarters. “What I want to know, Heine, is this. When do we ever get a fair chance at a man? We don’t get away from the hospital long enough at a time to capture one, and here, where we receive proposals every day, it’s against the rules to marry the patients.”
“Did he propose to you?” interposed Heine.
“Yes, he did. And he’s a nice boy, too.”