Hospital Corridors

by Mary Burchell.

  “Not—all about you.”

  “What then?”

  “She said,” Madeline told him slowly, “that you had a sort of mocking but provocative gaiety—which is true, of course—but that you didn’t believe in anyone or anything but yourself.”

  There was a rather astonished little silence. Then Morton laughed shortly.

  “Very penetrating of our Clarissa. I didn’t give her credit for so much judgment,” he said lightly. But, glancing at him, Madeline saw that he was frowning, and, inexplicably, a sort of compassion for him entered her heart.

  “Is it true, Morton?” she asked almost gently, using his Christian name for the first time. “That you believe in nothing and no one but yourself?”

  “Not entirely,” he retorted flippantly. “For I have no very profound belief, I suppose, even in myself.”

  “O-oh,” Madeline said, and then was silent “What does that mean, exactly?” he enquired with a smile—that sidelong smile which curiously disturbed her. “That you find the statement shocking?”

  “Oh, no. Sad, rather. It must be dreary, I think, believing in nothing.”

  Again there was an astonished silence. Then he said impatiently, almost resentfully,

  “I don’t think many people suppose I have a dreary life. They incline to think me lucky. After all, I have marvellous health, worldly success, and enough prosperity to indulge all my reasonable aspirations and even some of my unreasonable ones.”

  “But that doesn’t necessarily add up to happiness, does it?” Madeline said.

  “You funny child! I don’t know. What is happiness, anyway?” he demanded mockingly. “Isn’t it something to do with avoiding unpleasant things and engineering pleasant ones?”

  “No, of course not!” This time she was obviously shocked. “What then?”

  He was amused and intrigued, she saw. “You tell me what happiness is.”

  “But I can’t, exactly. I’m not clever enough. I only know that it’s a state of mind, and almost entirely independent of outside things. But if it’s to have any permanency and—and inner radiance, it must be founded on belief. In oneself, in others and in the ultimate rightness of things. At least, that’s how it seems to me.”

  “Oh, God, perhaps you’re right” He spoke half mockingly, half unhappily. “Anyway, I think perhaps I believe in you—a little. But look—there’s your first distant view of the Laurentians, and in twenty minutes we should have reached our destination.”

  His manner changed completely after that. He refused to be serious. He teased her and amused her and made her laugh a good deal. And presently they came to a tiny lakeside settlement—a cluster of chalet-like houses, fringing the shores of a lovely stretch of water.

  Away in the distance rose the Laurentian Mountains, their peaks dark against the late evening sky, and closer at hand were smaller, pineclad hills, sloping down almost to the water’s edge. In the pale light of evening, colours were muted, but in the general hush individual sounds were more distinct, so that one heard the soft lap of the water against the little wooden jetty, and the sound of two children calling to each other in a garden across the lake.

  “It’s perfectly heavenly!” Madeline exclaimed.

  “Near enough to happiness?” he enquired. But, though he spoke laughingly, Madeline thought he was anxious to have her praise what he had offered her.

  “Complete happiness,” she assured him. “Thank you. You couldn’t have chosen a lovelier place to bring me.”

  They dined on the lakeside terrace of an inn which looked as though it might have been transported from Switzerland. And, while they ate superb fried chicken and watched the light fade across the water, he made her talk of herself and her future plans.

  He seemed glad that she had not settled for more than a year in Canada, and prophesied confidently that she would come home at the end of it.

  “But what makes you think that?” she asked, a little nettled.

  “I shall persuade you to do so,” he replied gravely. And she could not, for the life of her, decide whether this were a joke or something more.

  The light was already almost gone when they started for home. But after a while an early summer moon came up over the horizon and lighted them on their way with a pale, golden glow.

  “We must do this again—soon,” he declared, as he bade her good-night outside the Nurses’ Home. And Madeline said with truth that she would love to.

  “But please, if you meet me when I’m on duty, don’t accord me more than the most conventional greeting,” she begged.

  “No more kisses, you mean?” His eyes flashed with amusement.

  “Most certainly not!”

  “That’s a promise—while you’re on duty.”

  “At any time—” Madeline began. But he had already put his arm lightly round her and drawn her against him.

  “There are no blonde dragons to watch us now, Madeline,” he said, and he kissed her with such unexpected tenderness and charm that, to her own surprise, she found it the most natural thing in the world to kiss him in return.

  “I must go,” she said rather breathlessly, and he released her immediately.

  She ran from him, up the few steps to the Nurses’ Entrance, while he watched her, smiling. Then she turned at the door, and waved to him and disappeared within.

  Later, in her own room, she reviewed the events of the evening and tried to assess her own reactions. But somehow the whole experience defied analysis.

  How could she tell how much he meant by his carelessly spoken words and his not so careless glances? For even now she shivered a little with a sort of half-enjoyable, half-apprehensive excitement when she thought of the way he looked at her, touched her hand—kissed her.

  She was not going to take any of it very seriously, of course. But she thought suddenly that Dr. Lanyon had been less than just when he referred to him as a philanderer.

  But then what could Dr. Lanyon know of the Morton who showed seriousness, even unhappiness, just for a moment, and who made one feel that inexplicable sense of compassion for him, in spite of all his worldly advantages?

  Madeline found next day that it required something of an effort to go in and see Mrs. Sanders in the course of her duties. But whether this was because she resented the charge that lady had made against her, or because she felt guilty that she was now on a footing with Morton which his mother would deplore, she could not quite decide.

  However, Mrs. Sanders merely said sweetly,

  “I hear my boy was very naughty yesterday and got you into some trouble with Miss Ardingley. I’m afraid he’s much too much inclined to joke and tease, but it doesn’t mean a thing. You must never,” she insisted firmly, almost anxiously, “take anything of that sort at all seriously, where Morton is concerned.”

  “I shouldn’t think of doing so, Mrs. Sanders,” Madeline replied composedly. But she thought of the way Morton had kissed her that other time—in the car last night.

  “I’m so glad to hear you say that I knew you were really a sensible girl at heart,” Mrs. Sanders said approvingly. “Now we’ll all forget about it,” she decreed magnanimously.

  She would have been much annoyed had she known that Madame Loncini, on the other side of the white corridor, took the opposite view, however. She was, as she loved to say, a romantic creature at heart; in proof of which there were her three much-publicized marriages, and sundry other activities not so openly publicized. When Madeline came into her room, she exclaimed immediately,

  “And how does the romance go?”

  “The romance, Madame?”

  “To be sure! The romance which started in the kitchen when the Unknown kissed you.”

  “He was not unknown, Madame Loncini. I already knew him quite well, but—”

  “So-o? It was already well established, then, this romance?”

  “No, no, there’s no romance at all,” Madeline insisted.

  “Then you have wasted your opportunities, my dear,” the s
inger declared with authority. “A man of such a romantic temperament that he can make love among the white enamel fittings of a hospital kitchen is not to be lightly dismissed. I am afraid you are of a cold temperament.”

  “Maybe. But please don’t send for your first husband,” Madeline countered with a laugh. “Life is quite complicated enough without that!”

  But, as a matter of fact, life flowed very smoothly during the next few days. It seemed as though Miss Ardingley had accepted Dr. Lanyon’s championship of Madeline at its face value, and this undoubtedly made her life easier. She wished even more that she could have found a chance to thank him, but she only caught an occasional glimpse of him in the corridor and no real opportunity offered.

  Even Mrs. Sanders, perhaps reassured by her conversation with Madeline, was unusually friendly. One afternoon she asked Madeline to bring her her jewel-case from the wardrobe. Then, taking the key from her handbag, she opened the case and very graciously showed Madeline some of the things.

  It was a beautiful and tastefully chosen collection and Madeline sincerely admired it.

  “That is specially beautiful”—she indicated a slender, exquisitely designed diamond bracelet.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Sanders picked it up and let it slide through her delicate fingers. “My husband gave me that when Morton was born. It’s lovely, isn’t it? For a young girl, really. It’s too young for me now.”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Sanders!”

  “Yes, yes. I was only nineteen then. I couldn’t wear it now. I shall keep it for Morton’s wife.” She said this with a charming air of resignation.

  “Over her dead body!” thought Madeline, a good deal amused, but she smiled and said, “She’ll be lucky.”

  “In more ways than one,” agreed Mrs. Sanders. And, as her son came into the room just then, she actually picked up the bracelet once more and said, “I was telling Miss Gill, darling, that I’m keeping this for your wife.”

  “Perhaps I don’t mean to have one!” He stooped to kiss his mother, but as he raised his head he smiled full at Madeline, in a way that made her flush and then pale.

  “Oh, yes, you will,” his mother said contentedly. And then, as she caught the glance, “Some nice, well-chosen girl of your own circle in England.”

  “Perhaps. Though that sounds dreary.” He looked at Madeline again and laughed.

  Terrified at his venturing even so far as this in his teasing, Madeline turned to go. But he detained her.

  “Miss Gill, you’re going to have to look after my mamma specially well in the next ten days. I shall be out of town and not able to visit her.”

  “I will, of course, Mr. Sanders,” Madeline said in her most professional manner. While Mrs. Sanders exclaimed,

  “Oh, darling, where are you going?”

  “To Donald’s place, up in the Laurentians.”

  Madeline knew that he looked at her again, but she refused to meet his glance.

  “Well, I suppose you have to go and settle things with your cousin some time,” Mrs. Sanders agreed. “And it will be nice up there just now.”

  “It will be marvellous. You know, I think we ought to have Miss Gill up there for the weekend. Judy will invite her.”

  “Miss Gill?” Mrs. Sanders’ whole manner froze, while Madeline thought Morton must have gone mad.

  “Yes. It will give her a good opportunity of seeing the Laurentians. We owe her something for having spoilt most of her fun on board. And she’ll be able to come back and report to you the very latest news of your beloved son,” Morton said mischievously. “What do you say, Miss Gill?” He turned to Madeline.

  “I—it’s very kind of you. But I’m not sure when I have a weekend free and—”

  “It need not be a weekend.”

  “Morton dear,” his mother put in firmly, “we’ll have to talk this over. And you really must not keep poor Miss Gill. She’s always very busy at this time in the afternoon.”

  “Yes, I—I really must go,” Madeline explained, and fled. “He must be crazy?” she thought angrily when she got outside. “What does he mean by involving me in that? I should adore to go up to the Laurentians for a weekend of course, but why tell her? Why tell her?”

  And then, of course, she realized that, if Morton wished their friendship to develop, there would be a time when he would have to let Mrs. Sanders know. To carry on the whole relationship in a cloud of secrecy would be ridiculous and undignified, not to say dangerous. In one sense, it was exciting and significant that he had made this sudden move, for it could only mean that he intended to go on seeing her, and to do so openly.

  “But it’s going to be pretty grim until she accepts the situation,” Madeline thought as she went off duty. “I wish Morton had spoken to me first. Or that I could talk it over with him now. How soon does he expect to go off on this trip? And—and what does he expect me to do about it?”

  All the time she was changing, to go downtown and do some shopping, she was turning over the new development in her mind and trying to decide what she would do if the final decision were left to her.

  She had not expected to have to face this issue so soon. To continue the friendship with Morton openly was to make a firm enemy of Mrs. Sanders, however skilfully he might handle her. And an enemy among the patients was not at all what Madeline wanted at this moment.

  On the other hand, if she refused the invitation, it might not come again.

  Madeline went out into the hot June sunshine, and while she stood waiting at the street-car stop she could not help thinking,

  “It would be lovely and cool up in the Laurentians. What Morton is really doing is asking me to meet his relations. That too is a compliment which might mean—”

  She had hardly noticed the long, low car which had slid to a standstill by the kerb, until Dr. Lanyon leaned out of the nearby window and said,

  “Can I give you a lift? I’m going downtown.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Sheer pleasure at seeing him, as much as the convenience of the lift, lent enthusiasm to her acceptance, and, as he opened the door, she willingly slipped into the seat beside him. Then, as the car started again, she turned to him eagerly.

  “Dr. Lanyon, I’m so glad of the chance to thank you for what you did for me the other afternoon. I can’t tell you how grateful I am! I was really in despair when you came in.”

  “I gathered you were in rather a spot. How did you manage it?”

  “It’s really a long and rather boring story,” Madeline declared, feeling that it was old history now. “But everything has been all right since. Miss Ardingley seems willing to overlook the unfortunate incident which started it all. And for that I have to thank you—and I do, indeed I do.”

  He smiled faintly at that, but he asked unexpectedly, “Where did Mrs. Sanders come into all this? I heard her name mentioned.”

  “Mrs. Sanders? She—oh, she added a little fuel to Miss Ardingley’s wrath because she thought Morton—she thought her son was paying me too much attention.”

  “And was he?” enquired Dr. Lanyon in what one of his students had once called his dissecting tone.

  “Not really. No.”

  “You don’t seem very sure about that.”

  She stared at the strong, beautiful, clever hands on the steering wheel, and at last she said,

  “Anything short of complete indifference would be paying me too much attention, in Mrs. Sanders’ estimation.”

  “I’m sure it would.” He paused, then he said drily, “I take it Morton Sanders is not displaying complete indifference?”

  “N-no.” She glanced at the famous surgeon somewhat uneasily, wondering how it was they had come to discuss her private affairs like this. “There’s no real reason why he should, is there?”

  “Not,” Dr. Lanyon said, “if you consider it worth while to run into danger for his beaux yeux.”

  “Danger!”

  He stopped for some traffic lights and, turning his head, he gave Madeline a brief, not unkindly smile
.

  “My dear, I’m not going to give you advice,” he said, “because few people want advice, and almost none take it. But the Sanderses are not entirely unknown to me. Mrs. Sanders, as you ought to be able to judge for yourself, is suffering from a form of jealous hysteria which amounts almost to nervous unbalance. It would be bad enough if she had a plain and undistinguished son who caused her no anxieties, for she would still be just as possessive about him. But, in point of fact, he is of course a handsome, charming creature, who can look after himself very well.”

  “But I don’t quite understand. If he can look after himself, why need one worry?”

  “I,” said Dr. Lanyon very drily indeed, “was not worrying about Morton Sanders. Shall I drop you here? I’m going on right down to the General myself.”

  “Oh, yes—thank you very much.” She prepared to get out, and then, as though something irresistible stopped her, she hesitated and said, “Dr. Lanyon, you’re really giving me some sort of warning, aren’t you?”

  “That would be a little beyond my province,” he admitted with his slight smile. “But I will at least remind you that any girl who attracts Morton Sanders automatically becomes the target for Mrs. Sanders’ insane jealousy. And though I’m sure he can look after himself very well, I have some grave doubts of his looking after the girl.”

  “I think that’s unfair!” Madeline said, and this time she did get out of the car.

  “Perhaps. But at least it is my definition of danger,” he replied through the window of the car. “Personally, I feel that a major operation would be safe in comparison. Always supposing, of course, that I did the operation myself.”

  Then he raised his hand to her in half-smiling salute and drove off.

  CHAPTER VI

  At the Dominion, as in most other hospitals, there tended to be an enjoyable sort of inquest on the day’s events when the nurses gathered in each other’s rooms in the evening. But Madeline was inclined to keep her more personal experiences for Ruth and Eileen only. Consequently, it was to them, in her own room, that she told the story of Morton’s suggestion of the visit to his cousin’s place.