But he did not look at her. There was so much that was hopeless in his
eyes that he did not want her to see. She would be quite capable, he told
himself savagely, of marrying him out of sheer pity if she ever guessed.
And he was afraid--afraid, since he wanted her so much--that he would be
fool and weakling enough to take her even on those terms. So he looked
away.

Everything was ready for her return to the hospital. She had been out that
day to put flowers on the quiet grave where Anna lay with folded hands; she
had made her round of little visits on the Street; and now her suit-case,
packed, was in the hall.

"In one way, it will be a little better for you than if Christine and
Palmer were not in the house. You like Christine, don't you?"

"Very much."

"She likes you, K. She depends on you, too, especially since that night
when you took care of Palmer's arm before we got Dr. Max. I often think,
K., what a good doctor you would have been. You knew so well what to do for
mother."

She broke off. She still could not trust her voice about her mother.

"Palmer's arm is going to be quite straight. Dr. Ed is so proud of Max
over it. It was a bad fracture."

He had been waiting for that. Once at least, whenever they were together,
she brought Max into the conversation. She was quite unconscious of it.