Hospital Corridors by Mary Burchell Page A

Ruth. He said as much.”
    “Did he now?” Ruth actually laughed at that.
    “Yes. Why not?”
    “Because he’d already spoken to me at some length about Mrs. Curtis. I can’t think that there was anything else much left to say.”
    “O-oh.” For the first time Madeline considered in detail what she had said to Dr. Lanyon in the corridor. “I told him I was in for a row. Do you suppose—”
    “You told him that! You really are the most unexpected and extraordinary girl,” exclaimed Eileen. “Who else would have thought of confiding her difficulties to Dr. Lanyon, I’d like to know?”
    “It wasn’t quite that!”
    “Oh yes, it was. I bet he was so intrigued that he came back on purpose to carry a torch for you with Flossie. What do you say, Ruth?”
    But Ruth laughed and shook her head.
    “Wasn’t it Napoleon who said, ‘Look at things as they are, not as you would wish them to be’?” she retorted a little enigmatically. And then one of the other nurses put her head in and said,
    “You’re wanted on the phone, Madeline.”
    “ I am?” Madeline looked startled for a moment, as though she thought that, on this day, no summons could herald anything but disaster. “Who is it?”
    “ I don’t know, my dear. Sounds like a boy-friend—with a very nice speaking voice.”
    “It’s the Sanders man, who kissed you in the kitchen,” Eileen declared. “He probably wants to grovel apologetically.”
    “I doubt it,” Madeline said, with a grim smile, as she went to take the call. “Morton Sanders is not the grovelling sort.”
    It was indeed Morton Sanders’ laughing, teasing voice which replied to her rather severe “Hello?” And he was certainly not in any grovelling mood. On the contrary, he asked in a tone that was almost masterful, in spite of its gay note,
    “When am I going to see you?”
    “I don’t know,” said Madeline, unable to forget all the trouble he had caused her.
    “What are you doing this evening?”
    “I—haven’t quite decided,” she said, though she knew perfectly well that all she intended to do was to spend the evening writing home, since both Eileen and Ruth were going out.
    “May I decide for you, then? Come out to dinner with me. I know a charming place, about halfway out towards the Laurentians. I’ll call for you early and we can take our time, and I promise to get you back before the fair-haired dragon locks the door.”
    Madeline laughed reluctantly.
    “Miss Ardingley has nothing to do with my off-duty time.”
    “All the better. But I’ll take the greatest care to see I don’t get you into any dragon’s black books. I am terribly sorry about this morning, Madeline.” He was apologizing at last, but his tone was singularly lighthearted.
    “So am I. You don’t know what trouble you landed me in.”
    “Did I? Then I’m sorry all over again.” There was a shade of seriousness in his voice that time. “And you must let me take you out and prove the fact. You shall tell me all about it, and we’ll make a wax figure of Miss A. and stick pins in it.”
    “We’ll do nothing of the sort,” Madeline retorted, but she had to laugh. “When will you come for me?”
    “Six o’clock. At the entrance to the Nurses’ Home?”
    “Oh, no!” Innocent though the expedition was, Madeline had a superstitious feeling that on a day like this, Miss Ardingley would surely see her entering Morton Sanders’ car and deduce something discreditable from the fact.
    “No—after all, I’ll meet you downtown.”
    “But why? There’s nothing clandestine about this meeting, is there?”
    “Of course not!” She spoke a shade more emphatically than she meant to do. “It’s just—I’d rather meet downtown. I shall have to be there in any case,” she added, excusing herself the small lie rather guiltily.
    “Very well. In the lounge of the Mount Royal?”
    “Yes. At six o’clock.” Madeline could not quite disguise the note of gay anticipation in her voice as she