"
Travers laughed and looked beyond the sick man's bed to the bowed head of
Priscilla as she bent over some preparation she was compounding in an
anteroom. From a high window the sunlight was streaming down on the
wonderful rusty-coloured hair. The girl's attitude of detachment and
concentration held the physician's approving glance, but the wave of
hair under the white cap and against the smooth, clear skin lingered in
the memory of the _man_ long after he forgot Moffatt's amusing anecdote.
And then, because things were closing in upon Priscilla Glenn's little
stage, something happened so commonplace in its character that its effect
upon the girl was out of all proportion.
After a rather strenuous day she was sleeping heavily in her little white
room when a sharp knock on her door brought her well-trained senses into
action at once.
"There's been an accident, Miss Glynn." It was the superintendent who
spoke. "Please report on Ward Five as soon as possible."
It was an insignificant accident; such a one as occurs shockingly often
in our big cities. A large touring car, with seven passengers, rushing up
a broad avenue with a conscientious man at the wheel, had overhauled a
poor derelict with apparently no fixed purpose in his befuddled brain.
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