She threw out the last words with a certain vehemence, as though eager to get away from any sentimentalism about herself.  Hallin studied her kindly.

“Is this miscellaneous work a relief to you after hospital?” he asked.

“For the present.  It is more exciting, and one sees more character.  But there are drawbacks.  In hospital everything was settled for you—­every hour was full, and there were always orders to follow.  And the ‘off’ times were no trouble—­I never did anything else but walk up and down the Embankment if it was fine, or go to the National Gallery if it was wet.”

“And it was the monotony you liked?”

She made a sign of assent.

“Strange!” said Hallin, “who could ever have foreseen it?”

She flushed.

“You might have foreseen it, I think,” she said, not without a little impatience.  “But I didn’t like it all at once.  I hated a great deal of it.  If they had let me alone all the time to scrub and polish and wash—­the things they set me to at first—­I thought I should have been quite happy.  To see my table full of glasses without a spot, and my brass-taps shining, made me as proud as a peacock!  But then of course I had to learn the real work, and that was very odd at first.”

“How?  Morally?”

She nodded, laughing at her own remembrances.  “Yes—­it seemed to me all topsy-turvy.  I thought the Sister at the head of the ward rather a stupid person.  If I had seen her at Mellor I shouldn’t have spoken two words to her.  And here she was ordering me about—­rating me as I had never rated a house-maid—­laughing at me for not knowing this or that, and generally making me feel that a raw probationer was one of the things of least account in the whole universe.  I knew perfectly well that she had said to herself, ’Now then I must take that proud girl down a peg, or she will be no use to anybody;’ and I had somehow to put up with it.”

“Drastic!” said Hallin, laughing; “did you comfort yourself by reflecting that it was everybody’s fate?”

Her lip twitched with amusement.

“Not for a long time.  I used to have the most absurd ideas!—­sometimes looking back I can hardly believe it—­perhaps it was partly a queer state of nerves.  When I was at school and got in a passion I used to try and overawe the girls by shaking my Speaker great-uncle in their faces.  And so in hospital; it would flash across me sometimes in a plaintive sort of way that they couldn’t know that I was Miss Boyce of Mellor, and had been mothering and ruling the whole of my father’s village—­or they wouldn’t treat me so.  Mercifully I held my tongue.  But one day it came to a crisis.  I had had to get things ready for an operation, and had done very well.  Dr. Marshall had paid me even a little compliment all to myself.  But then afterwards the patient was some time in coming to, and there had to be hot-water bottles.  I had them ready of course; but they were too hot, and in my zeal and nervousness I burnt the patient’s elbow in two places.  Oh! the fuss, and the scolding, and the humiliation!  When I left the ward that evening I thought I would go home next day.”