To Please the Doctor by Marjorie Moore Page A

Jill with embarrassment; she was certainly glad of the covering darkness as she sought her reply, but yet would have given much had it only been light enough to read the expression behind the inscrutable smile which had accompanied his words. “ I don ’ t know ...” Jill broke off, irritated with her own faltering words. Then, with a sudden burst of confidence, she added, “ I believe that you could answer that question far better than I. ”
    “ I? ... How can I answer it? If you mean, shall I go to Matron and ask for your transfer, then the answer is definitely no. When you leave St. Joseph ’ s it will be entirely on your own initiative not mine. ”
    “ My initiative. ” Jill echoed, and she made no effort to conceal the bitterness which lay behind her words. “ I suppose you feel I should be grateful that you leave the decision to me? In theory, perhaps you will...” She broke off, trying desperately to control the break in her voice. “ In fact, the whole thing depends upon you and you know it. ”
    “ I think you are mistaken. ” His tone was gentle and when he spoke softly the burr in his speech was more pronounced. “ You don ’ t really have to work, do you? ” he added irrelevantly.
    “ No. If you mean am I dependent on my earnings, then I ’ m not, ” Jill responded with some surprise.
    “ Then why do you take a job? Nursing is a serious profession and meant for serious people. ”
    There was no further hesitation in Jill ’ s voice as she was stung to a retort. “ I don ’ t understand you! Do you imagine that I am just playing at a job because the uniform is becoming ... That I believed nursing consisted of holding the patient ’ s hand and whispering words of sweet consolation to the sick? I took up nursing because I wanted to. I ’ m interested and I love it! Is there any reason why, just because I happen to have private means, that I should be denied the work I want to do? ” Her words were defiant, and even in the pale light of the moon which was rising from behind the black mass of hills behind, her eyes shone with suppressed anger.
    “ I ’ m sorry—I misjudged you. ” Duncan McRey ’ s tone was sincere, and for a fleeting second his hand rested on hers. Quickly he withdrew it as he continued: “ My original meeting with you at Harriet ’ s that night gave me a different impression. ” He smiled and Jill felt sure that it must be a trick of the moonlight which softened his features conveying an expression of sincere concern. “ I must admit that little has happened since to alter that first impression. ” This time there was no mistaking the quizzical smile playing at the corners of his lips.
    “ There I have to admit you are justified. ” Jill stopped speaking abruptly. She longed almost unbearably to tell him of the overwhelming odds which seemed to have conspired against her since her arrival at St. Joseph ’ s. Her suspicion of Brenda Ma l ling ’ s complicity in her failure to make good, her own sense of bitter disappointment and frustration. With a supreme effort she choked back the words which trembled on her lips, chiding herself for her own weakness as she recalled the scorn which would probably greet her disclosure, and the satirical twist which would no doubt replace the sympathetic expression on Duncan McRey ’ s face. She mustn ’ t be too easily moved by this rare show of understanding. Linking her fingers together on her lap she looked up to meet his questioning gaze. “ I know that you have had every right to be disappointed in me , ” she repeated.
    “ I suppose that I must be satisfied with that admission—unsatisfactory as it is. ” His steel-blue eyes caught and held her gaze in a remorseless stare. “ One thing you must realize—that is, if you decide to remain at St. Joseph ’ s—expect no quarter from me, inefficiency and carelessness I cannot and will not tolerate. ”
    Jill was conscious of a deep sense of apprehension. She felt an