Hospital Corridors by Mary Burchell Page B

bade him good-bye. Then she rang off and went to her room, trying to pretend to herself that the idea of an evening in the company of Morton Sanders excited no more than a certain sense of amused curiosity within her.

 
    CHAPTER V
    As Madeline entered the lounge of the Mount Royal that evening she thought that surely neither London nor New York could provide a more varied, or better dressed, crowd of people than those she saw around her.
    She herself was wearing that peculiar shade of sea-green which is so specially becoming to creamy-skinned brunettes, and her grey eyes shone with an inner excitement which could also be read in the slight parting of her red lips and the quick turn of her graceful head as she looked about her.
    Morton Sanders was already waiting for her, and as he came towards her across the great carpeted space she thought, with an entirely unexpected catch at her heart, that he was the best-looking man in the place.
    When she had seen him that morning she had been too agitated to consider him objectively, and all the while she had known him on board he had been Mrs. Sanders’ son and, in some sense, her own employer. Now she saw him for the first time as a man—possibly a friend—who admired her and found her interesting. It took nothing from her pleasure to realize that he was also a man whom many men and most women looked at as he passed “Why, hello. You’re even lovelier out of your uniform than in it,” he declared as he greeted her. (Perhaps he too was seeing her in some way for the first time.) “Will you come and have a drink before we start?”
    She smiled and shook her head.
    “No, thank you. It’s too nice an evening to spend sitting around indoors. And I’m longing to have my first sight of the Laurentians.”
    “Well, it won’t be more than a distant glimpse this evening, I’m afraid,” he told her. “But it’s pleasant country, and the place we’re heading for is on one of the dozens of small lakes. Shall we go?”
    They had to walk a little way to where the car was parked, because, as Madeline had already discovered, the rather narrow streets of downtown Montreal present a traffic problem which puts casual parking out of the question.
    She was very much aware of him, tall, graceful and rather dominating, as he walked beside her, and once, as they crossed the road, he put his hand round her arm. There was not even the smallest suggestion of unnecessary pressure, or anything other than a touch to guide her, but she was aware suddenly of a little current of excitement, as though there were the slightest charge of electricity in his strong, well-shaped fingers.
    She told herself not to be silly and schoolgirlish. But the sensation was repeated as he handed her into the car, and she knew suddenly that, with all his air of lazy sophistication and worldly veneer, he also had a streak of sheer animal magnetism in him, which was probably what made him so dangerously attractive.
    While they threaded their way out of town he gave most of his attention to his driving. But, once they were out on the highway and heading north, he turned to smile at her and ask,
    “Well, what happened this morning after I had left?”
    “Oh—do we have to talk about it?” Pleasantly relaxed as she was, sitting there beside him, the breeze from the open window fanning her cheek, she felt no wish to relive old troubles.
    “I must say I’m curious,” he admitted. “Besides, how do I apologize, if I don’t know what I’m apologizing for?”
    “You can apologize for the fact that I had to take the rap for your bit of ill-timed nonsense,” she retorted drily.
    “But it was not just nonsense, Madeline.” His tone was suddenly serious and, in spite of herself, she caught her breath. “I was so damned glad to see you, my dear. When I caught sight of you and realized that I’d found you without even having to look for you, I felt as though life had handed me a bonus. You didn’t really expect me to