Hospital Corridors by Mary Burchell

gratitude.
    “I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone so experienced as you”—Nat Lanyon’s beautiful voice took on the slightest shade of flattery—“that in Mrs. Sanders we have a typical case of nervous, possessive jealousy, Miss Ardingley. Frankly, she’s something of a mischief-maker. And between her and her good-looking and philandering son, Miss Gill steered a difficult path very creditably. I think it would be unfair if I didn’t say as much, since I had an opportunity to observe the truth of the matter.”
    There was a struggle on Florence Ardingley’s handsome face. To no one else in the hospital, she was sure, had Dr. Lanyon ever spoken with such confidential friendliness before. Even the fact that Madeline was the subject of the talk could not quite destroy that. It was impossible to be less than gracious in the face of such a delightful departure from precedent.
    “Well—thank you, Dr. Lanyon. That does rather alter the situation,” she said at last.
    “I hope,” Madeline ventured to say in her turn, “that it—it also explains why I couldn’t stop Mr. Sanders kissing me in the kitchen this morning.”
    She saw a sudden flash of uncontrollable amusement in Dr. Lanyon’s face.
    “I’m sure it does, Miss Gill,” he said, before Miss Ardingley could speak. “But Miss Ardingley naturally expects that, now you are forewarned, you will be able to take evasive action in future.”
    Even Miss Ardingley smiled reluctantly at this, and Madeline actually laughed aloud—though timidly.
    “I—I will, certainly. Thank you, Dr. Lanyon, for speaking for me. And thank you, Miss Ardingley,” she added tactfully “for listening so patiently.”
    “Now perhaps we can discuss Mrs. Curtis.” Dr. Lanyon turned back to Miss Ardingley with his usual abrupt manner, and obviously became immersed in professional considerations immediately.
    Thankfully, Madeline slipped away and went off duty, feeling as though she had done two days’ hard work and could scarcely crawl across to the Nurses’ Home.
    When she arrived in her room, she found both Eileen and Ruth waiting for her.
    “Whatever happened today?” Ruth enquired immediately. “Flossie went about all afternoon looking as though she were sucking lemons, and I gathered it had something to do with you.”
    “She caught Morton Sanders kissing me in the kitchen,” said Madeline, tossing off her cap and undoing her stiff belt. “And, before there are any misunderstandings, you may as well know that I didn’t want him to, didn’t encourage him to, and hadn’t the faintest idea that he was going to.”
    “But what happened ?” cried Eileen, who had shrieked with mingled delight and horror at the initial statement
    Madeline, now beginning to recover a little from the events of the day, gave an entertaining account of the sequel.
    “But I don’t understand. You talk as though Dr. Lanyon were always popping in and out, like someone in a French farce,” exclaimed Eileen. “How did he come to be on the scene so often?”
    “Oh—I don’t know.” Madeline pushed back her hair rather wearily. “I hadn’t thought about it. Anyway, it was only three times.”
    “Only three times!” repeated Eileen, amused and incredulous. “It’s usually considered epoch-making if he speaks to one once. How come you worked the oracle three times?”
    Madeline laughed doubtfully.
    “Well, the first time he just came to see Mrs. Curtis, who’s a patient of his. The second time he’d finished the visit at more or less the same moment as I had finished any unofficial visit to Mrs. Sanders. It wasn’t so strange that we ran into each other again in the corridor, I think.”
    “But the third time.” It was Ruth who looked reflective then. “Yes, the third time does require some explanation.”
    “But he came back specially to speak to Miss Ardingley about Mrs. Curtis,” Madeline explained. “In fact, if she hadn’t been available, he meant to speak to you,