“You, of course,” she said. “You find Max and save him—don’t look like that! You did, didn’t you? And you get Joe away, borrowing money to send him. And as if that isn’t enough, when you ought to have been getting some sleep, you are out taking a friend to Tillie, and being godfather to the baby.”
He looked uncomfortable, almost guilty.
“I had a day off. I—”
“When I look back and remember how all these months I’ve been talking about service, and you said nothing at all, and all the time you were living what I preached—I’m so ashamed, K.”
He would not allow that. It distressed him. She saw that, and tried to smile.
“When does Joe go?”
“To-night. I’m to take him across the country to the railroad. I was wondering—”
“Yes?”
“I’d better explain first what happened, and why it happened. Then if you are willing to send him a line, I think it would help. He saw a girl in white in the car and followed in his own machine. He thought it was you, of course. He didn’t like the idea of your going to Schwitter’s. Carlotta was taken ill. And Schwitter and—and Wilson took her upstairs to a room.”
“Do you believe that, K.?”
“I do. He saw Max coming out and misunderstood. He fired at him then.”
“He did it for me. I feel very guilty, K., as if it all comes back to me. I’ll write to him, of course. Poor Joe!”
He watched her go down the hall toward the night nurse’s desk. He would have given everything just then for the right to call her back, to take her in his arms and comfort her. She seemed so alone. He himself had gone through loneliness and heartache, and the shadow was still on him. He waited until he saw her sit down at the desk and take up a pen. Then he went back into the quiet room.
He stood by the bedside, looking down. Wilson was breathing quietly: his color was coming up, as he rallied from the shock. In K.’s mind now was just one thought—to bring him through for Sidney, and then to go away. He might follow Joe to Cuba. There were chances there. He could do sanitation work, or he might try the Canal.
The Street would go on working out its own salvation. He would have to think of something for the Rosenfelds. And he was worried about Christine. But there again, perhaps it would be better if he went away. Christine’s story would have to work itself out. His hands were tied.
He was glad in a way that Sidney had asked no questions about him, had accepted his new identity so calmly. It had been overshadowed by the night tragedy. It would have pleased him if she had shown more interest, of course. But he understood. It was enough, he told himself, that he had helped her, that she counted on him. But more and more he knew in his heart that it was not enough. “I’d better get away from here,” he told himself savagely.
And having taken the first step toward flight, as happens in such cases, he was suddenly panicky with fear, fear that he would get out of hand, and take her in his arms, whether or no; a temptation to run from temptation, to cut everything and go with Joe that night. But there his sense of humor saved him. That would be a sight for the gods, two defeated lovers flying together under the soft September moon.
Some one entered the room. He thought it was Sidney and turned with the light in his eyes that was only for her. It was Carlotta.
She was not in uniform. She wore a dark skirt and white waist and her high heels tapped as she crossed the room. She came directly to him.
“He is better, isn’t he?”
“He is rallying. Of course it will be a day or two before we are quite sure.”
She stood looking down at Wilson’s quiet figure.
“I guess you know I’ve been crazy about him,” she said quietly. “Well, that’s all over. He never really cared for me. I played his game and I—lost. I’ve been expelled from the school.”
Quite suddenly she dropped on her knees beside the bed, and put her cheek close to the sleeping man’s hand. When after a moment she rose, she was controlled again, calm, very white.
“Will you tell him, Dr. Edwardes, when he is conscious, that I came in and said good-bye?”
“I will, of course. Do you want to leave any other message?”
She hesitated, as if the thought tempted her. Then she shrugged her shoulders.
“What would be the use? He doesn’t want any message from me.”
She turned toward the door. But K. could not let her go like that. Her face frightened him. It was too calm, too controlled. He followed her across the room.
“What are your plans?”
“I haven’t any. I’m about through with my training, but I’ve lost my diploma.”
“I don’t like to see you going away like this.”
She avoided his eyes, but his kindly tone did what neither the Head nor the Executive Committee had done that day. It shook her control.
“What does it matter to you? You don’t owe me anything.”
“Perhaps not. One way and another I’ve known you a long time.”
“You never knew anything very good.”
