A large and brilliant company was present in the evening on which she received her diploma, for the Training School deservedly excited the interest of the best and most philanthropic people in the city.  It was already recognized as the means of giving to women one of the noblest and most useful careers in which they can engage.

Mildred’s fine appearance and excellent record drew to her much attention, and many sought an introduction.  Mr. Wentworth beamed on her, and was eloquent on the credit she had brought to him.  Old Mr. Arnold and Mrs. Sheppard spoke to her so kindly and gratefully that her eyes grew tearful.  Mrs. Wheaton looked on exultantly as the proudest and richest sought the acquaintance of the girl who had so long been like her own child.

But the first to reach and greet her when the formalities of the evening were over was her old friend who had been Miss Wetheridge.  “We have just arrived from a long absence abroad,” she exclaimed, “and I’m glad and thankful to say that my husband’s health is at last restored.  For the first year or two he was in such a critical condition that I grew selfish in my absorption in his case, and I neglected you—­I neglected everybody and everything.  Forgive me, Mildred.  I have not yet had time to ask your story from Mr. Wentworth, but can see from the way he looks at you that you’ve inflated him with exultation, and now I shall wait to hear all from your own lips,” and she made the girl promise to give her the first hour she could spare.

In spite of all the claims upon her time and attention, Mildred’s eyes often sought Roger’s face, and as often were greeted with a bright, smiling glance, for he had determined that nothing should mar her pleasure on this evening.  Once, however, when he thought himself unobserved, she saw a look of weariness and dejection that smote her heart.

When the evening was quite well advanced she came to him and said, “Won’t you walk with me a little in this hallway, where we can be somewhat by ourselves?  It so happens that I must go on duty in a few moments, and exchange this bright scene for a dim hospital ward; but I love my calling, Roger, and never has it seemed so noble as on this evening while listening to the physician who addressed us.  There is such a deep satisfaction in relieving pain and rescuing life, or at least in trying to do so; and then one often has a chance to say words that may bring lasting comfort.  Although I am without a home myself, you do not blame me that I am glad it is my mission to aid in driving away shadows and fear from other homes?”

“I am homeless, too, Millie.”

“You! in that beautiful house, with so many that you love looking down upon you?”

“Walls and furniture cannot make a home; neither can painted shadows of those far away.  I say, Millie, how sick must a fellow be in order to have a trained nurse?”

She turned a swift, anxious glance upon him.  “Roger, tell me honestly,” she said, “are you well?”