She smiled at me, very pleasantly, but the little dimple held naught but mystery.  I really think her eyes implied a sort of regret, as if she wished she could make the ordeal less hard for me.

The waiter brought the oysters, which Dora consumed appreciatively.  I was simply compelled to eat also, lest she should deem me a peevish loser in the great game I had sought to play.  Yet I remember that these Cape Cods were distinctly hard to swallow, delicious though they probably were.

Suddenly she looked up, and the little oyster impaled on her fork dropped on the plate.

“There’s Taurus!” she exclaimed, with gleaming eyes.

She was looking at a rather tall man, of powerful build, whose abundant hair was splendidly tinged with silver, and who was coming in with a very beautiful woman.

“Is that what you nurses call him?” I asked, recognizing one of the great surgeons of the world.

“Yes,” she answered.  “Isn’t he wonderful?  We’re all in love with him, the mean thing.”

“Kindly explain the adjective,” I urged her.  “Is it due to the fact that he protected himself against the wiles of a host of pretty women by marrying the sweetest one of the lot—­with a single exception—­to the utter despair of the remainder?”

“Did you ever hear him blow up his house-staff?” Dora asked me.

“I have heard that he could be rather strenuous at times,” I admitted.

“Well, that’s how he infringes on our rights,” Dora informed me.  “I have never heard him say an angry word to a nurse.  He just has a way of smiling at one, as if he were beholding an infinitesimal infant totally incapable of understanding.  The sarcasm of it is utterly fierce and the nurse goes off, red and shaken, and feels like killing him.  Don’t you think we’ve got just as good a right as any whipper-snapper of a new intern to be blown up?”

“Evidently,” I assented.  “It is an unfair discrimination.”

“And yet we’re all just crazy for him.  You can hardly understand how the personality of the man permeates the wards, how he gives one the impression of some wonderful being who has reached a pinnacle, and remains there, smilingly, without heeding the crowd below that worships and cheers.  And how the patients adore him!”

She evidently expected no answer from me, nor did I venture upon one.  Her words were very significant, and gave me a rather hopeless feeling.  She was under the influence of the glamour of great names and reputations.  Her youth demanded hero-worship.  Measured by her standards I was but a nice friend, to whom she could even be affectionate.

Presently, in her enjoyment of our modest little dinner, she turned to me, appearing to forget the crowd, and sighed happily.

“This would all be so delightful,” she said, “if....”

“I’ll tell you, girlie,” I said, “let us agree that all this has been a dream of mine.  We will say that I have never been in love with you, and regard you now with profound indifference.  It has been that which some very amazing practitioners are pleased to call an error.  Now you will be able to enjoy happiness.  As far as I am concerned I don’t suppose it can make me feel any worse.”