Part 6 (1/2)
The smile had gone; she was very sober now. And the House Surgeon, still watching the two profiles, suddenly felt his heart settle down to a single steady beat. He wanted to get up that very instant and tell the nurse in charge of Ward C what had happened and what he thought of her; but instead he dug his hands deep in his pockets. How in the name of the seven continents had he never before realized that she was the sweetest, finest, most adorable, and onliest girl in the world, and worth a whole board-room full of youngest and prettiest trustees?
”I came back,” went on Margaret MacLean, slowly, ”really because of the Old Senior Surgeon, to stand, as he stood in the days long ago, between you and the incurable ward; to shut out--if I could--the little, thoughtless, hurting things that you are always saying without being in the least bit conscious of them, and to keep the children from wanting too much the friends.h.i.+p and loving interest that, somehow, they expected from you. I wanted to try and make them feel that they were not case this and case that, abnormally diseased and therefore objects of pity and curiosity to be pointed out to sympathetic visitors, but children--just children--with a right to be happy and loved. I wanted to fill their minds so full of fun and make-believe that they would have to forget about their poor little bodies. I tried to make you feel this and help without putting it--cruelly--into words; but you would never understand. You have never let them forget for a moment that they are 'incurables,' any more than you have let me forget that I am a--foundling.”
She stopped a moment for breath, and the smile came back--a wistfully pleading smile. ”I am afraid that last was not in the report. What I want to say is--please keep the incurable ward; take the time to really know them--and love them a little. If you only could you would never consider sending them away for a moment. And if, in addition to the splendid care you have given their bodies, you would only help to keep their minds and hearts sound and sweet, and s.h.i.+eld them against curious visitors, why--why--some of them might turn out to be 'a case in a thousand.' Don't you see--can't you see--that they have as much right to their sc.r.a.ps of life and happiness--as your children have to their complete lives, and that there is no place for them anywhere if Saint Margaret's closes her doors?”
With an overwhelming suddenness she became conscious of the att.i.tude of the trustees. She, who was nothing but a foundling and a charity patient herself, had dared to pa.s.s judgment on them; it was inconceivable--it was impertinent--it was beyond all precedent. Only the gray wisp of a woman sat silent, seeming to express nothing.
Margaret MacLean's cheeks flamed; she shrank into herself, her whole being acutely alive to their thoughts. The scared little-girl look came into her face.
”Perhaps--perhaps,” she stammered, pitifully, ”after what I have said you would rather I did not stay on--in charge of Ward C?”
The Dominating Trustee rose abruptly. ”Mr. President, I suggest that we act upon Miss MacLean's resignation at once.”
”I second the motion,” came in a quick bark from the Meanest Trustee, while the Oldest Trustee could be heard quoting, ”Sharper than a serpent's tooth--”
The Executive Trustee rose, looking past Margaret MacLean as he spoke.
”In view of the fact that we shall possibly discontinue the incurable ward, and that Miss MacLean seems wholly unsatisfied with our methods and supervision here, I motion that her resignation be accepted now, and that she shall be free to leave Saint Margaret's when her month shall have expired,”
”I second the motion,” came from the Social Trustee, while she added to the Calculating, who happened to be sitting next: ”So ill-bred. It just shows that a person can never be educated above her station in life.”
The President rose. ”The motion has been made and seconded. Will you please signify by raising your hands if it is your wish that Miss MacLean's resignation be accepted at once?”
Hand after hand went up. Only the little gray wisp of a woman in the chair by the door sat with her hands still folded on her lap.
”It is, so to speak, a unanimous vote.” There was a strong hint of approval in the President's voice. He was a good man; but he belonged to that sect which holds as one of the main articles of its faith, ”I believe in the infallibility of the rich.”
”Can any one tell me when Miss MacLean's time expires?”
The person under discussion answered for herself. ”On the last day of the month, Mr. President.”
”Oh, very well.” He was extremely polite in his manner. ”We thank you for your very full and--hmm--comprehensive report. After to-night you are excused from your duties at Saint Margaret's.”
The President bowed her courteously out of the board-room, while the primroses in the green Devons.h.i.+re bowl on his desk still nodded guilelessly.
V
ODDS AND ENDS
Margaret MacLean walked the length of the first corridor; once out of sight and hearing, she tore up the stairs, her cheeks crimson and her eyes suspiciously moist. Before she had reached the second flight the House Surgeon overtook her.
”I wish,” he panted behind her, trying his best to look the big-brother way of old--”I wish you'd wait a moment. This habit of yours of always walking up is a beastly one.”
”Don't worry about it.” There was a sharp, metallic ring in her voice that made it unnatural. ”That's one habit that will soon be broken.”
The House Surgeon smiled rather helplessly; inside he was making one of the few prayers of his life--a prayer to keep Margaret MacLean free of bitterness. ”There is something I want to say to you,” he began.
She broke in feverishly: ”No, there isn't! And I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you're sorry. I don't want to hear they'll be taken care of--somewhere--somehow. I think I should scream if you told me it was bound to happen--or will all turn out for the best.”
”I had no intention of saying any of those things--in fact, they hadn't even entered my mind. What I was going to--”