“Well, I never thought I should marry a—­trained nurse!” he acknowledged with somewhat hectic blitheness.

Impulsively the White Linen Nurse reached for her watch and lifted it close to her twilight-blinded eyes.  A sense of ineffable peace crept suddenly over her.

“You won’t, sir!” she said amiably.

“It’s twenty minutes of nine, now.  And the graduation was at eight!”

CHAPTER VIII

For any real adventure except dying, June is certainly a most auspicious month.

Indeed it was on the very first rain-green, rose-red morning of June that the White Linen Nurse sallied forth upon her extremely hazardous adventure of marrying the Senior Surgeon and his naughty little crippled daughter.

The wedding was at noon in some kind of a gray granite church.  And the Senior Surgeon was there, of course,—­and the necessary witnesses.  But the Little Crippled Girl never turned up at all, owing—­it proved later,—­to a more than usually violent wrangle with whomever dressed her, concerning the general advisability of sporting turquoise-colored stockings with her brightest little purple dress.

The Senior Surgeon’s stockings, if you really care to know, were gray.  And the Senior Surgeon’s suit was gray.  And he looked altogether very huge and distinguished,—­and no more strikingly unhappy than any bridegroom looks in a gray granite church.

And the White Linen Nurse,—­no longer now truly a White Linen Nurse but just an ordinary, every-day, silk-and-cloth lady of any color she chose, wore something rather coat-y and grand and bluish, and was distractingly pretty of course but most essentially unfamiliar,—­and just a tiny bit awkward and bony-wristed looking,—­as even an Admiral is apt to be on his first day out of uniform.

Then as soon as the wedding ceremony was over, the bride and groom went to a wonderful green and gold café all built of marble and lined with music, and had a little lunch.  What I really mean, of course, is that they had a very large lunch, but didn’t eat any of it!

Then in a taxi-cab, just exactly like any other taxi-cab, the White Linen Nurse drove home alone to the Senior Surgeon’s great, gloomy house to find her brand new step-daughter still screaming over the turquoise colored stockings.

And the Senior Surgeon in a Canadian-bound train, just exactly like any other Canadian-bound train, started off alone,—­as usual, on his annual June “spree.”

Please don’t think for a moment that it was the Senior Surgeon who was responsible for the general eccentricities of this amazing wedding day.  No indeed!  The Senior Surgeon didn’t want to be married the first day of June!  He said he didn’t!  He growled he didn’t!  He snarled he didn’t!  He swore he didn’t!  And when he finished saying and growling and snarling and swearing,—­and looked up at the White Linen Nurse for a confirmation of his opinion, the White Linen Nurse smiled perfectly amiably and said, “Yes, sir!”