The Romantic Part 17

"John," she said, "I wish I'd gone with you instead of Mrs. Rankin."

"I wish to G.o.d you had. Everything's all right when you're with me, and everything's all wrong when you're not."

"How do you mean, wrong?"

He shook his head, frowning slightly, as a sign for her to stop. Sutton had come into the room.

"You needn't go," he said, "I've only come for my coat and my case. I've got to help with the operations."

He slipped into the white linen coat. There were thin smears of blood on the sleeves and breast. He groped about the room, peering short-sightedly for his case of instruments.

"John, was Mrs. Rankin any good?" she asked presently.

John lay back and closed his eyes as if to shut out the sight of Mrs. Rankin.

"Don't talk to me," he said, "about that horrible woman."

Sutton had turned abruptly from his search.

"Good?" he said. "She was magnificent. So was Miss Bartrum. So was McClane."

John opened his eyes. "So was Charlotte."

"I quite agree with you." Sutton had found his case. His face was hidden by the raised lid as he peered, examining his instruments. He spoke abstractly. "Magnificent."

When he left the room Charlotte followed him.

"Billy--"

"Well--"

He stopped in his noiseless course down the corridor.

"What was it?" she said. "What happened?"

He didn't pretend not to understand her.

"Oh, nothing. Conway and Mrs. Rankin didn't hit it off very well together."

They spoke in low, rapid tones, conscious, always, of the wards behind the shut doors. Her feet went fast and noiseless beside his as he hurried to the operating theatre. They came out on to the wide landing and waited there by the bra.s.s lattice of the lift.

"How do you mean, hit it off?"

"Oh well, she thought he didn't come up quick enough with a stretcher, and she pitched into him."

"But he was dead beat. Done. Couldn't she see that?"

"No. I don't suppose she could. She was a bit excited."

"She was horrible." Now that Mrs. Rankin was back safe she hated her. She knew she hated her.

"A bit cruel, perhaps. All the same," he said, "she was magnif--"

The lift had come hissing and wailing up behind him. The orderly stood in it, staring at Sutton's back, obsequious, yet impatient. She thought of the wounded men in the theatre downstairs.

"You mustn't keep them waiting," she said.

He stepped back into the lift. It lowered him rapidly. His chin was on a level with the floor when his mouth tried again and succeeded: "Magnificent."

And she knew that she had followed him out to near him say that John had been magnificent, too.

Gwinnie was looking in at the messroom door and saying "Do you know where Charlotte is?" Mrs. Rankin's voice called out, "I think you'll find her in _Mr. Conway's_ bedroom." One of the chauffeurs laughed. Charlotte knew what they were thinking.

Gwinnie failed to retort. She was excited, shaken out of her stolidity.

"Oh, there you are! I've got something ripping to tell you. Not in here."

They slouched, with their arms slung affectionately round each other's waists, into their own room. Behind the shut door Gwinnie began.

"The Colonel's most frightfully pleased about Berlaere."

"Does he think they'll hold it?"

"It isn't that. He's pleased about you."

"Me?"

"You and John. What you did there. And your bringing back the guns."

"Who told you that?"

"Mac. The old boy was going on to him like anything about you last night. It means you'll be sent out every time. Every time there's anything big on."

"Oh-h! Let's go and tell John.... I suppose," she added, "that's what was the matter with Mrs. Rankin."

She wondered whether it had been the matter with Billy Sutton too; if he too were jealous and afraid.

That night Mrs. Rankin told her what the Colonel really had said: "'C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas--la Croix Rouge.' If you're all sent home to-morrow it'll serve you jolly well right," she said.

But somehow she couldn't make it sound as if he had been angry.

X

She waited.