Dr. Carmon and Aunt Jane stood in the sitting-room of Suite A. The door to the bedroom was ajar, and through it Miss Canfield could be seen moving about and waiting on Herman Medfield.

Aunt Jane went quietly to the door and drew it together with noiseless touch. "How is he?" she asked.

"All right. There's nothing the matter—that I can find out." Dr. Carmon shrugged his shoulders a little. "Temperature normal—no change, you see." He pointed to the chart lying on the table, and ran his finger along the lines. "Pulse good. Slept like a top, Miss Canfield says."

"She's to go on ward duty to-day," said Aunt Jane.

He looked up quickly. "I want her!"

"You said, yesterday, I could have her for the Men's Ward," replied Aunt Jane. She was looking critically at the spot on his vest and he drew his coat quickly together.

"That was yesterday," he said gruffly. "I can't spare her now."

Aunt Jane sighed. "It doesn't seem right for one person to have everything."

"He'll have to have things—for a while," replied Dr. Carmon. "He'll have to have what he wants—till I find out what's wrong with him.... He wants Miss Canfield—and I can't take the risk of having him upset!" He spoke a little brusquely at the end.

Aunt Jane's feathers ruffled themselves. "I don't know what call he has to expect to have any particular nurse!" she said. "We shall take good care of him, whatever nurse he has!"

"Yes—yes—of course." Dr. Carmon was testy and placating. "But I told him he could have Miss Canfield—till he was out of bed—and she'll have to stay."

"You told him—he could have Miss Canfield!" Aunt Jane's eye held something and looked at it. "When did you tell him that?" she asked at last, letting it go.

"I told him yesterday—when you sent for me.

"After the widow was here?"

"Yes." He looked at her. "Anything wrong about that?" Dr. Carmon was not in his best humor. He felt Aunt Jane's eye boring through to the offending spot and there was subtle disapproval in her manner—something he did not quite fathom. "She'll have to stay!" he said—and the tone was final.

Aunt Jane's only reply was a little chuckling laugh.

He glared at her and went out.

Her smile followed him from the room. She went over to the window. From the next room came the sound of voices—Miss Canfield's low and quieting, and Herman Medfield's expostulating and fretful—and then silence.

Aunt Jane went across and opened the door. She looked in on Herman Medfield. He was lying with his eyes closed and an almost peaceful expression on his countenance. Miss Canfield was not in the room.

He opened his eyes and saw Aunt Jane and closed them quickly. His face changed subtly and swiftly to mild distress.

Aunt Jane came leisurely in.

The eyes did not open or respond to her questioning look.

She sat down by the bed.

"Good morning," he said feebly.

Aunt Jane smiled. "I didn't think it was good—not very good—not from what Dr. Carmon told me," she said slowly.

Medfield sighed. "Some pain," he admitted. He turned his head restlessly.

"Well, we must expect some pain." Her voice was as big and breezy as all outdoors.

Medfield's face relaxed under it—to a kind of meek patience.

Aunt Jane watched it kindly.

"What you need, Mr. Medfield, is a good wife——"

The eyes flew open—and stared—and closed again quickly.

She nodded. "That's what I've been thinking—some one that has sense and can do things—not just talk about 'em."

He smiled faintly. "I'm taken very good care of," he replied politely. "I couldn't ask for better care than I've had here." The eyes closed themselves again.

"Yes—Miss Canfield's a good nurse." She was watching the face and the closed eyes. "She takes good care—and she's got sense.... What I was thinking was, that you could go home now—if you had somebody to go with you to look after you and take interest—if you had a wife."

"I'm not well enough," interposed Medfield quickly.

"Oh, yes—you're well enough, I guess."

"The doctor said I was to stay in bed!" His defense was almost spirited.

"You and Julian could go together," went on Aunt Jane ignoring it. "He'll look after you some."

Medfield groaned. And Aunt Jane reached out a hand to his forehead. Her cool touch rested on it.

"Your head feels all right," she said, smoothing it slowly.

The little wrinkles went out of Medfield's brow and Aunt Jane watched it relax.

"Better tell me all about it," she said gently. "You'll feel better to get it off your mind, maybe."

"I don't feel well, you know." It was almost apologetic.

"No—and next thing you know, you'll be down sick—just pretending.... I've been thinking about it," she said slowly. "Ever since you were took down yesterday—but I didn't sense what was the matter—not till this morning."

"You don't know now!" Herman Medfield's tone was guilty and a little apprehensive.

Aunt Jane smiled. "Yes, I reckon I see it just about the way it is—now.... You don't want to get well—not yet."

"No." He admitted it feebly.

"And you don't want we should take Miss Canfield off your case."

He said nothing.

"Well, we're not going to take her off."

His face brightened a little.

Aunt Jane laughed softly. "That's right! You can chirk up—all you want to!... You do need a good wife—much as anybody ever I see."

He opened his lips—and stared at her—and closed them. "I—I believe I do!" His eyes rested on the fresh childlike color in Aunt Jane's face and the little lines that twinkled at him.

"I believe I do!" he repeated softly.

Aunt Jane nodded sagely, "That's what you need."

She got up leisurely. "Well, I must go do my work."

He put out his hand. "When will you come again?" he asked.

"Oh—along by and by." She was moving from him. "You just tend to getting well.... You'll be able to sit up some time this afternoon maybe." She nodded to him from the door and was gone.

He lay looking at the place where she had disappeared. A little wonder held his face; a gentleness had come into it and the eyes watching the closed door smiled dreamily.

When Miss Canfield returned she glanced at him in surprise. "You're looking better!" she exclaimed.

"I feel better!" said Medfield almost gayly. "The pain is entirely gone."

"That's good! We'll have you up—in a day or two."

"I don't see why Julian has not been in," replied Medfield.

She paused. "He did come," she spoke slowly. "But we thought perhaps it was better not to disturb you.... You were sleeping when he came—you seemed to be asleep."

"Did you see him?" demanded Medfield.

"Yes." The little dear color that was always in her face mounted a trifle. "He's coming after dinner," she added quietly.

Medfield's face was cheerful. "I want to see him when he comes— If I am asleep, you tell him to wait."

"Very well, sir."

"You tell him, yourself. Don't trust any of those people out there!" He made a motion of distrust toward the hospital in general. "You have him wait—see him yourself."