everyone in this room is aware of it, you will find it difficult to excuse.'
'Why you-you-!' Pomeroy spluttered, scarlet in the fece but lost for words violent enough to satisfy his outrage and at the same time not expose his weakness. 'You-'
Hester gave him one withering look, then turned away and went over to the patient who had defended her, now sitting with the bedclothes in a heap around him and a pale face full of shame.
“There is no need to blame yourself,'' she said to him very gently, but clearly enough for everyone else in the ward to hear her. He needed his excusing to be known. 'It was bound to happen that one day I should fall out with Dr. Pomeroy sufficiently for this to happen. At least you have spoken up for what you know, and perhaps you will have saved Mrs. Begley a great deal of pain, maybe even her life. Please do not criticize yourself for it or feel you have done me a disfavor. You have done no more than choose the time for what was inevitable.'
'Are you sure, miss? I feel that badly!' He looked at her anxiously, searching her face for belief.
'Of course I'm sure.' She forced herself to smile at him. 'Have you not watched me long enough to judge that for yourself? Dr. Pomeroy and I have been on a course that was destined for collision from the beginning. And it was never possible that I should have the better of it.' She began to
straighten the sheet around him. 'Now take care of yourself- and may God heal you!'' She took his hand briefly, then moved away again. 'In spite of Pomeroy,' she added under her breath.
When she had reached her rooms, and the heat of temper had worn off a little, she began to realize what she had done. She was not only without an occupation to fill her time, and financial means with which to support herself, she had also betrayed Callandra Daviot's confidence in her and the recommendation to which she had given her name.
She had a late-afternoon meal alone, eating only because she did not want to offend her landlady. It tasted of nothing. By five o'clock it was growing dark, and after the gas lamps were lit and the curtains were drawn the room seemed to narrow and close her in in enforced idleness and complete isolation. What should she do tomorrow? There was no infirmary, no patients to care for. She was completely unnecessary and without purpose to anyone. It was a wretched thought, and if pursued for long would undermine her to the point where she would wish to crawl into bed and remain there.
There was also the extremely sobering thought that after a week or two she would have no money and be obliged to leave here and return to beg her brother, Charles, to provide a roof over her head until she could-what? It would be extremely difficult, probably impossible to gain another position in nursing. Pomeroy would see to that.
She felt herself on the edge of tears, which she despised. She must do something. Anything was better than sitting here in this shabby room listening to the gas hissing in the silence and feeling sorry for herself. One unpleasant task to be done was explaining herself to Callandra. She owed her that, and it would be a great deal better done face-to-face than in a letter. Why not get that over with? It could hardly be worse than sitting here alone thinking about it and waiting for time to pass until she could find it reasonable to go to bed, and sleep would not be merely a running away.
She put on her best coat-she had only two, but one was definitely more flattering and less serviceable than the other- and a good hat, and went out into the street to find a hansom and give the driver Callandra Daviot's address.
She arrived a few minutes before seven, and was relieved to find that Callandra was at home and not entertaining company, a contingency which she had not even thought of when she set out. She asked if she might see Lady Callandra and was admitted without comment by the maid.
Callandra came down the stairs within a few minutes, dressed in what she no doubt considered fashionable, but which was actually two years out of date and not the most flattering of colors. Her hair was already beginning to come out of its pins, although she must have left her dressing room no more than a moment ago, but the whole effect was redeemed by the intelligence and vitality in her face-and her evident pleasure in seeing Hester, even at this hour, and unannounced. It did not take her more than one glance to realize that something was wrong.
'What is it, my dear?' she said on reaching the bottom stair. 'What has happened?'
There was no purpose in being evasive, least of all with Callandra.
'I treated a child without the doctor's permission-he was not there. The child seems to be recovering nicely-but I have been dismissed.' It was out. She searched Callandra's face.
'Indeed.' Callandra's eyebrows rose only slightly. 'And the child was ill, I presume?'
'Feverish and becoming delirious.'
'With what did you treat it?'
'Loxa quinine, theriac, Hoffman's mineral liquor-and a little ale to make it palatable.'
'Seems very reasonable.' Callandra led the way to the withdrawing room. 'But outside your authority, of course.'
'Yes,' Hester agreed quietly.
Callandra closed the door behind them. 'And you are not sorry,'' she added. “I assume you would do the same again?''
'Do not lie to me, my dear. I am quite sure you would. It is a great pity they do not permit women to study medicine. You would make a fine doctor. You have intelligence, judgment and courage without bravado. But you are a woman, and that is an end of it.' She sat down on a large and extremely comfortable sofa and signaled Hester to do the same. 'And what do you intend to do now?'
'I have no idea.'
'I thought not. Well perhaps you should begin by coming with me to the theater. You have had an extremely trying day and something in the realm of fantasy will be a satisfactory contrast. Then we will discuss what you are to do next. Forgive me for such an indelicate question, but have you sufficient funds to settle your accommodation for another week or two?''
Hester found herself smiling at such mundane practicality, so far from the moral outrage and portent of social disaster she might have expected from anyone else.
'Yes-yes I have.'
'I hope that is the truth.' Callandra's wild eyebrows rose inquiringly. 'Good. Then that gives us a little time. If not, you would be welcome to stay with me until you obtain something more suitable.'
It was better to tell it all now.
'I exceeded my authority,' Hester confessed. 'Pomeroy was extremely angry and will not give me any kind of reference. In fact I would be surprised if he did not inform all his colleagues of my behavior.'
'I imagine he will,' Callandra agreed. 'If he is asked. But so long as the child recovers and survives he will be unlikely to raise the subject if he does not have to.' She regarded Hester critically. “Oh dear, you are not exactly dressed for an evening out, are you? Still, it is too late to do a great deal now; you must come as you are. Perhaps my maid could dress your hair? That at least would help. Go upstairs and tell her I request it.'
Hester hesitated; it had all been so rapid.
'Well don't stand there!' Callandra encouraged. 'Have you eaten? We can have some refreshment there, but it will not be a proper meal.''
'Yes-yes I have. Thank you-'
“Then go and have your hair dressed-be quick!''
Hester obeyed because she had no better idea.
The theater was crowded with people bent on enjoying themselves, women fashionably dressed in crinoline skirts full of flounces and flowers, lace, velvet, fringes and ribbons and all manner of femininity. Hester felt outstandingly plain and not in the least like laughing, and the thought of flirting with some trivial and idiotic young man was enough to make her lose what little of her temper was left. It was only her debt, and her fondness for Callandra, that kept any curb on her tongue at all.
Since Callandra had a box there was no difficulty about seats, and they were not placed close to anyone else.
