A trifle quizzically for an instant the woman turned her face to the Senior Surgeon’s.  It was a worldly face, a cold-featured, absolutely worldly face, with a surprisingly humorous mouth that warmed her nature just about as cheer fully, and just about as effectually, as one open fireplace warms a whole house.  Nevertheless one often achieved much comfort by keeping close to “Aunt Agnes’s” humorous mouth, for Aunt Agnes knew a thing or two,—­Aunt Agnes did,—­and the things that she made a point of knowing were conscientiously amiable.

“Why, Lendicott Faber,” she rallied him now.  “Why, you’re as nervous as a school-boy!  Why, I believe—­I believe that you’re going courting!”

More opportunely than any man could have dared to hope, the White Linen Nurse appeared suddenly on the scene in her little blue serge wedding-suit with her traveling-case in her hand.  With a gasp of relief the Senior Surgeon took her case and his own and went on down the path to his car and his chauffeur leaving the two women temporarily alone.

When he returned to the piazza the Woman-of-the-World and the Girl-not-at-all-of-the-World were bidding each other a really affectionate good-by, and the woman’s face looked suddenly just a little bit old but the girl’s cheeks were most inordinately blooming.

In unmistakable friendliness his sister-in-law extended her hand to him.

“Good-by, Lendicott, old man!” she said.  “And good luck to you!” A little slyly out of her shrewd gray eyes, she glanced up sideways at him.  “You’ve got the devil’s own temper, Lendicott dear,” she teased, “and two or three other vices probably, and if rumor speaks the truth you’ve run a-muck more than once in your life,—­but there’s one thing I will say for you,—­though it prove you a dear Stupid:  you never were over-quick to suspect that any woman could possibly be in love with you!”

“To what woman do you particularly refer?” mocked the Senior Surgeon impatiently.

Quite brazenly to her own heart which never yet apparently had stirred the laces that enshrined it, his sister-in-law pointed with persistent banter.

“Maybe I refer to—­myself,” she laughed, “and maybe to the only—­other lady present!”

“Oh!” gasped the White Linen Nurse.

“You do me much honor, Agnes,” bowed the Senior Surgeon.  Quite resolutely he held his gaze from following the White Linen Nurse’s quickly averted face.

A little oddly for an instant the older woman’s glance hung on his.  “More honor perhaps than you think, Lendicott Faber!” she said, and kept right on smiling.

“Eh?” jerked the Senior Surgeon.  Restively he turned to the White Linen Nurse.

Very flushingly on the steps the White Linen Nurse knelt arguing with the Little Crippled Girl.

“Your father and I are—­going away,” she pleaded.  “Won’t you—­please—­kiss us good-by?”

“I’ve only got one kiss,” sulked the Little Crippled Girl.