“You?” I cried, feeling suddenly aware how much I thought of her.  “Oh, not you, please, Nurse Wade.  Some other life, less valuable!”

Sebastian stared at me coldly.  “Nurse Wade volunteers,” he said.  “It is in the cause of science.  Who dares dissuade her?  That tooth of yours?  Ah, yes.  Quite sufficient excuse.  You wanted it out, Nurse Wade.  Wells-Dinton shall operate.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hilda Wade sat down in an easy chair and took a measured dose of the new anaesthetic, proportioned to the average difference in weight between raccoons and humanity.  My face displayed my anxiety, I suppose, for she turned to me, smiling with quiet confidence.  “I know my own constitution,” she said, with a reassuring glance that went straight to my heart.  “I do not in the least fear.”

As for Sebastian, he administered the drug to her as unconcernedly as if she were a rabbit.  Sebastian’s scientific coolness and calmness have long been the admiration of younger practitioners.

Wells-Dinton gave one wrench.  The tooth came out as though the patient were a block of marble.  There was not a cry or a movement, such as one notes when nitrous oxide is administered.  Hilda Wade was to all appearance a mass of lifeless flesh.  We stood round and watched.  I was trembling with terror.  Even on Sebastian’s pale face, usually so unmoved, save by the watchful eagerness of scientific curiosity, I saw signs of anxiety.

After four hours of profound slumber—­breath hovering, as it seemed, between life and death—­she began to come to again.  In half an hour more she was wide awake; she opened her eyes and asked for a glass of hock, with beef essence or oysters.

That evening, by six o’clock, she was quite well and able to go about her duties as usual.

“Sebastian is a wonderful man,” I said to her, as I entered her ward on my rounds at night.  “His coolness astonishes me.  Do you know, he watched you all the time you were lying asleep there as if nothing were the matter.”

“Coolness?” she inquired, in a quiet voice.  “Or cruelty?”

“Cruelty?” I echoed, aghast.  “Sebastian cruel!  Oh, Nurse Wade, what an idea!  Why, he has spent his whole life in striving against all odds to alleviate pain.  He is the apostle of philanthropy!”

“Of philanthropy, or of science?  To alleviate pain, or to learn the whole truth about the human body?”

“Come, come, now,” I cried.  “You analyse too far.  I will not let even you put me out of conceit with Sebastian.” (Her face flushed at that “even you”; I almost fancied she began to like me.) “He is the enthusiasm of my life; just consider how much he has done for humanity!”