The moving finger

THE swish of starched skirts caused the man in the bed to roll slowly over, and for the first time patient and nurse regarded each other. The silence grew protracted.

“Well?” The man’s tone was husky and the short interrogation was almost lost among the pillows. He made a second attempt, and this time his voice carried across the room. “What--what do you want?”

The nurse’s eyes, pupils dilated, shifted from his white face to the glass in her outstretched hand, and the familiar sight of the medicine and her starched uniform drove away her temporary loss of composure.

“Here is your medicine,” she announced, and at the sound of her low, traînante voice the patient clutched the bedclothes spasmodically. He made no effort to take the glass.

“Put it on the table,” he directed and, reading correctly the look that crept into her eyes, his voice rose again harshly. “Put it down, I say--”

A rap at the closed hall door partly drowned his words, and without replying Nurse Deane placed the glass on the table by the bed, and a second later was looking out into the hall. She drew back at sight of a tall man standing somewhat away from the entrance to the room, then thinking better of her hesitancy she stepped into the hall and drew the door shut behind her.

“What is it, Mr. Wyndham?” she inquired.

“I came up to ask if there is anything I can do for you?” Hugh Wyndham moved over to her side, and Nurse Deane’s preoccupation prevented her becoming conscious of his scrutiny. “I think Noyes exceeded matters when he asked you to undertake the care of another patient.”

Vera Deane’s face lighted with one of her rare smiles. “Oh, no,” she protested. “We nurses are always glad to assist in emergencies. Dr. Noyes came in to see Mr. Porter and he explained that one of your aunt’s dinner guests had been taken ill, and requested me to make him comfortable for the night.”

“Still, with all you have to do for poor Craig it’s putting too much on you,” objected Wyndham. “Let me telephone into Washington for another night nurse, or, better still, call Nurse Hall.”

Vera laid a detaining hand on his arm. “Mrs. Hall was ill herself when she went off duty; she needs her night’s rest,” she said earnestly. “I assure you that I am quite capable of taking care of two patients.”

“It wasn’t that,” Hugh paused and reddened uncomfortably, started to speak, then, thinking better of his first impulse, added lamely, “I never doubted your ability, but--but--you’ve been under such a strain with Craig--”

“Mr. Porter is improving,” interrupted Vera swiftly. “And as my new patient is not seriously ill--”

“True,” Wyndham agreed, slightly relieved. “Just an attack of vertigo--Noyes and I got him to bed without calling you.” He did not think it necessary to add that he had stopped the surgeon sending for her. “Noyes said you need only look in once or twice during the night and see that he is all right.” A thought occurred to him, and he added hastily: “Perhaps I can sit up with him--”

“That will hardly be necessary.” Vera’s tone of decision was unmistakable. “I thank you for the offer,” raising grave eyes to his. Wyndham bowed somewhat stiffly and moved away. “Just a moment, Mr. Wyndham; what is the name of my new patient?”

Wyndham’s glance was a mixture of doubt and admiration.