Part 59 (1/2)
Mrs. Wheaton was their companion now, and she soon gave the final touches to a delicate little supper, which, with some choice flowers, she had placed on the table. It was her purpose to wait upon them with the utmost respect and deference, but Mildred drew her into a chair, with a look that repaid the good soul a hundred times for all the past.
”Roger,” she said gayly, ”Mrs. Wheaton says you don't eat much.
You must make up for all the past this evening. I'm going to help you, and don't you dare to leave anything.”
”Very well, I've made my will,” he said, with a smiling nod.
”Oh, don't talk that way. How much shall I give the delicate creature, Mrs. Wheaton? Look here, Roger, you should not take your meals in a library. You are living on books, and are beginning to look like their half-starved authors.”
”You are right, Miss Millie. 'Alf the time ven I come to take havay the thinks I finds 'im readin', and the wittles 'ardly touched.”
”Men are such foolish, helpless things!” the young girl protested, shaking her head reprovingly at the offender.
”I must have some company,” he replied.
”Nonsense,” she cried, veiling her solicitude under a charming petulance. ”Roger, if you don't behave better, you'll be a fit subject for a hospital.”
”If I can be sent to your ward I would ask nothing better,” was his quick response.
Again she was provoked at her rising color, for his dark eyes glowed with an unmistakable meaning. She changed the subject by saying, ”How many pretty, beautiful, and costly things you have gathered in this room already! How comes it that you have been so fortunate in your selections?”
”The reason is simple. I have tried to follow your taste. We've been around a great deal together, and I've always made a note of what you admired.”
”Flatterer,” she tried to say severely.
”I wasn't flattering--only explaining.”
”Oh dear!” she thought, ”this won't do at all. This homelike house and his loneliness in it will make me ready for any folly. Dear old fellow! I wish he wasn't so set, or rather I wish I were old and wrinkled enough to keep house for him now.”
Conscious of a strange compa.s.sion and relenting, she hastened her departure, first giving a wistful glance at the serene faces of those so dear to her, who seemed to say, ”Millie, we have found the home of which you dreamed. Why are not you with us?”
Although she had grown morbid in the conviction that she could not, and indeed ought not to marry Roger, she walked home with him that night with an odd little unrest in her heart, and an unexpected discontent with the profession that heretofore had so fully satisfied her with its promise of independence and usefulness. Having spent an hour or two in her duties at the hospital, however, she laughed at herself as one does when the world regains its ordinary and prosaic hues after an absorbing day-dream. Then the hurry and bustle of the few days preceding her graduation almost wholly occupied her mind.
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 n.o.blest 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 un.o.bserved, 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 n.o.ble 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?”