Free Hospital Corridors by Mary Burchell

,” she declared. “It makes me feel gay just to hear you talk.”
    And Madeline went off to her other duties, leaving the singer faintly puzzled but undoubtedly gratified by this tribute.
    Once or twice during the rest of her spell of duty Madeline caught a glimpse of Miss Ardingley, but nothing further was said about the incident in the kitchen, so that she even began to hope that she had heard the last of it. Perhaps this might have been so, if unfortunately Dr. Lanyon had not chosen this particular morning to look in and see his patient.
    This time Madeline was alone when she met him in the corridor, and he stopped immediately, apparently having no difficulty whatsoever in recognizing her in uniform on this occasion.
    “Hello,” he said. “How’s life at the Dominion? Are you settling down well?”
    “Thank you, yes,” Madeline assured him. “I like the work, and I think I’m going to be very happy here.”
    “Good.” He looked at her with a sort of amused speculation. “You know, I don’t even know your name,” he said suddenly, as though the thought had just struck him.
    She hesitated an instant.
    “It’s Gill—Madeline Gill.”
    Knowing what she did, she could not doubt that the name gave him an uncomfortable jar. But he said quite casually, “Is that so?” And then, more deliberately—almost, Madeline thought, as though he made himself say the words, “I used to know someone else of that name.”
    Madeline felt herself begin to colour. She would have given almost anything to take his attention off her at that moment. Almost anything but what did happen. Miss Ardingley came out of one of the nearby rooms.
    “My unlucky day!” thought Madeline with an inward groan. “She’ll think I do nothing but stand about talking to attractive men!”
    This was obviously what Miss Ardingley did think, though the casual little nod of dismissal which Dr. Lanyon immediately gave Madeline might have been from any doctor to any nurse after a few words about a case.
    He then turned to speak to Miss Ardingley in his most professional manner, and Madeline went away, feeling as though she trod on eggshells.
    It was, she thought, time that she looked in to speak to Mrs. Sanders, for it would never do to add an affronted Mrs. Sanders to her other troubles. So she went into the end room, which was one of the most charming in the block, and found her erstwhile patient leaning back against artistically frilled pillows and looking very beautiful in a languid way.
    She was undoubtedly pleased to see Madeline and greeted her almost as an old friend.
    “My dear, are you actually working on this floor?” she said, taking Madeline’s hand in her cool, delicate fingers. “What a comfort for me.”
    “Why, yes. Didn’t Mr. Sanders tell you?”
    “Morton?” The cordial manner underwent a subtle change, and the sweet, plaintive voice was several degrees colder as it said, “No. How did he know?”
    “He—I ran into him,” Madeline explained hastily. “I daresay he forgot to mention it to you.” She tried to make that sound as though she were less than nothing in Morton Sanders’ gay life. “Do tell me how you’re feeling and if you’re comfortable here.”
    Mrs. Sanders told her, at some length.
    “But I think I’m going to like it,” she ended, with cautious approval. “You have a charming woman in charge, I notice.”
    Madeline cleared her throat slightly and said,
    “Miss Ardingley, you mean?”
    “Yes. Good-looking, capable and,” Mrs. Sanders added with some satisfaction, “a lady.”
    “Of course,” agreed Madeline gravely. And then the lady herself came in, giving poor Madeline the impression that fate was stalking her.
    “How are you feeling now, Mrs. Sanders?” Miss Ardingley’s charming air of interest was exquisitely tempered to the new patient, whom she had obviously summed up at once as one who liked to be asked that question a dozen times a day.
    “Tired, but very comfortable,” Mrs.