“Listen to me now,” she said impressively, “and I’ll tell you something to make you angry, if you like!”

She leaned against the foot of the bed, with her hands in the pockets of her apron, looking down at him.  “I was in charge of th’ infirmary at Mellifont one time, and late one evening a young farm-boy was brought in to me with a dislocated foot and a ’Pott’s Fracture’—­”

“In the name o’ God, what’s that?” enquired Mrs. Mangan.

“Fracture of the fibula, but the case I’m speaking of had the two bones broken at the ankle,” explained Nurse Brennan, in her most professional manner; “sure I thought anyone’d know that!  And I can tell you,” she leaned towards Larry, striking the palm of her left hand with her little clenched right fist, as if to hammer the words into him, “I can assure you, that as bad as you thought you were, you don’t know what pain is beside what that boy suffered!  Well, I sent for the doctor—­a young brat of a fella that hadn’t but just left college.  ‘He’ll want an anaesthetic,’ says he, ‘I’ll send down for Doctor ——­’ (I’ll not tell you his name—­Smith, I’ll call him!) ‘Do you give him some brandy, nurse,’ says he, ’Dr. Smith’ll be here soon.’  Sure enough he was, and glad I was to see him, for the patient was suffering greatly, and the leg swelling every minyute.  It was a long ward he was in, and no one at all in it but himself.  At the far end there was a table and a lamp, and down at the table me gentlemen sat, and commenced to talk.”

Nurse Brennan paused, and Mrs. Mangan gave the fire a well-directed poke, that set the flames branching upwards.  The tale was resumed, in those cool and equable tones that express a more perfected indignation than any heat or haste could convey.

“Well, that was nine o’clock, and they talked there for two hours, and I giving the patient brandy, and expecting every minyute he’d collapse.  And what do you suppose they were talking about?  Fighting they were!  Disputing which of them would perform the operation, and which would administer the chloroform!”

Mrs. Mangan laughed lightly, and said:  “I wouldn’t at all doubt it!”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Larry.

“Not a bit impossible!” said Nurse Brennan, “and how d’ye think they settled it in the end?  They arranged one of them would begin th’ operation and go on for five minutes, and then he should stop and give the anaesthetic, and the other would go on with the leg!  Oh, it’s the case, I assure you!  It was twelve o’clock at night before they were done!”

She paused, laughing a little at the hot questions with which Larry assailed her, but he could see the unshed tears gleaming in her eyes.  “I was summoned to a private case next day; I don’t know what happened to the unfortunate poor creature of a patient.”

“A stiff leg he has, I’ll be bound!” said Mrs. Mangan.

Larry lay silent.  He saw it all.  The long, dark ward, the white angel figure (he thought, romantically) bending over the tortured creature on the bed, and, far away, the pool of yellow light and in it those two—­he sought in vain for adjectives to express what he thought of Dr. I’ll-not-tell-you-his-name, and his young colleague.