He took off his hat and laid it
on the ground.
"So one of the dreams of my life has been realised," he said quietly. "I
have met Sister Josephine again."
She was for a moment transformed. A delicate pink flush stole through
the pallor of her cheeks, her tired eyes were lit with pleasure. She
smiled at him.
"I was wondering," she murmured. "You really hadn't forgotten, then?"
"I remember," he told her, "as though it were yesterday, the first time I
ever saw you. I was brought into Etaples. It wasn't much of a wound but
it was painful. I remember seeing you in that white stone hall, in your
cool Sister's dress. After the dust and horror of battle there seemed to
be nothing in that wonderful hospital of yours but sunlight and white
walls and soft voices. I watched your face as you listened to the details
about my case--and I forgot the pain. In the morning you came to see how
I was, and most mornings afterwards."
"I am glad that you remember," she murmured.
"I have forgotten nothing," he went on. "I think that those ten days of
convalescence out in the gardens of your villa and down by the sea were
the most wonderful days I ever spent."
"I love to hear you say so," she confessed.
"Out there," he continued, "the whole show was hideous from beginning to
end, a ghastly, terrible drama, played out amongst all the accompaniments
which make hell out of earth.
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