It was very quiet in the hospital. The lights were turned low in the corridors; only a subdued glow from Aunt Jane's office shone out into the dimness.

Dr. Carmon, on his round of late visits, glanced at the light as he came and went. He had not seen Aunt Jane to-day. He had been out of town. It had been a hard day for Dr. Carmon.

When the last visit was over, he hesitated a minute. Then he went swiftly down the hall toward the light shining from the door.

At the door he paused. Aunt Jane, over by the shaded lamp, sat in her rocking-chair. She rocked gently; and as she rocked, little thoughts came and went in her face.

He stood silently watching the face. It was smiling now. He stepped in quickly.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She looked up with a start—and brushed a hand across her face.

"I—I was thinking about my—my wings, I guess." She was laughing a little.

"Umph! Just about ready to grow 'em, I expect!"

He put down his bag and came and sat opposite her and placed a hand on either knee, surveying her shrewdly.

"How are you feeling?"

"All right."

"Slept well?" A little smile crossed the words.

"I never had such a sleep!... And I feel all right after it," she added thoughtfully. "But I don't believe in taking things!"

She was mildly indignant.

"Can't hurt you," he said absently. "I knew what I was giving."

"But—I didn't."

"'Twasn't necessary," he said briefly.

She looked up at him with a little surprised twinkle and rocked gently.

He was leaning forward, an arm resting on either knee, his hands hanging relaxed between the knees. He was lost in thought.

She stole a glance at the preoccupied face—and opened her lips—and closed them and went on rocking.

He had put the tips of his fingers together and was swinging them a little and whistling softly. He looked at her.

"Jane——"

"What!" It was almost a jump.

He smiled a little. The whistle had ceased.

"Do—you—love me, Jane?"

She looked at him indignantly. "Whatever put such an idea into your head!"

"It isn't there—I wish it were!"

He was looking at her quietly and at something flooding up under her cap.

"I wonder—if you do?" He was swinging the finger-tips thoughtfully, as if they balanced it for him, and his eyes did not leave her face.

"Jane——"

She looked at him meekly, a flitting glance—and then away.

"Don't you love me?"

"Yes." She drew in the word with a quick breath and got up abruptly. She went straight across the room to her desk—and stopped.

He watched her with a slow, questioning look.

He got up slowly.

"I—I'm too old to love anybody!" The words came softly to him—with a half sob. "I'm just ashamed of it!"

She was sitting facing the desk and her shoulders lifted with the little sobbing breaths she tried to control.

Dr. Carmon came over and stood beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder and stood quiet a minute.

"I need you, Jane!" he said at last. "I can't tell you how I need you!"

She turned and looked up at him then, her face quivering in little lights. "Well—I guess it's all right—the way I feel! It's the way the Lord made me, anyhow! I don't want to be this way!" She brushed her hand across her eyes and smiled at him a little tremulously.

He was looking down—his face almost grave in its quiet happiness.... "I don't quite believe it, Jane—that you are coming to live with me——"

"But I'm not!" She got up quickly.

He faced her. "You said—" He gazed at her.

"I said I—that—I—loved you!" She threw it at him. "That's bad enough, I hope—without having to leave my hospital!" A fine, clear color had come into her face.

He watched it smilingly. "I'll come here to live!" he announced.

"I can't have you! You wouldn't like it! It wouldn't be good for you—living with your work!... Oh—dear!"

She wrestled with it and he watched the disturbed face, with happy, affectionate eyes.

"Don't bother—Jane!" he said softly.

"Of course I've got my wing—" She paused on it. "You can come and live in my wing.... That's the best I can do for you!" She threw out her hands, half laughing, half crying, and he took them and led her to the rocking-chair and put her in it and stood beside her.

"I wonder if you need another powder," he said reflectively.

"Mercy—no!... Sit down!"

He sat down and she looked at him—and at his shabby, crumpled clothes—with brimming eyes.

"Here I am, being happy! And I've been using other folks' happiness so long, I don't hardly know what to do with any of my own—happiness that belongs just to me!"

"It doesn't belong just to you!" said Dr. Carmon sternly. "You are the most self-centred woman I ever knew!" he added.

"Yes, I suppose I am!" sighed Aunt Jane. She rocked happily and looked at it.

"I'm going to teach you how to be happy!" said Frederic Carmon. "I can teach you! There are several things I can teach you, I suspect." He said it slowly. His eye dwelt on her.... "For one thing, you are not going to have your own way so much as you have—it's not good for you!"

"Oh!" said Aunt Jane. She sat very still looking at it—and the face in its white cap smiled in little, gentle, breaking lines.