Free Australian Hospital by Joyce Dingwell

Doctor Halliday walked suddenly into the room. An immediate fanfare was set up. Even Claire’s “dependable thorn,” thin, discontented Miss Walsh, flushed an excited pink and waved her misshapen hand.
    Candace alone stood remote and unworshipping. Her grave, grey gaze met his vivid, blue, rather mocking glance across the cots.
    He went from bed to bed, saying the right thing, bringing a glow to pale cheeks, a shine into tired eyes.
    His personality seemed unlimited. The patients obviously adored him. Candace thought of another encounter with this man, and, to her dismay, went a similar deep pink.
    He must have noticed it, and, perhaps, guessed what caused it, for he raised inquiring brows, and his blue eyes mocked more than ever.
    “You may conduct me round the other wards, Sister.”
    “I am busy here.”
    The brows rose again, but this time not in laughing inquiry.
    “I was not asking, Sister,” said Stephen Halliday, “I was issuing an order.”
    Silently, she took her place by his side, eyes downcast, keeping the distance between them as wide as possible.
    “You knew you were coming to Manathunka?” he asked presently.
    “Yes, Doctor.”
    “That explains it.” They negotiated another corridor.
    “What does it explain?”
    “Your delay in clinching matters with young Buckland. Obviously you had heard of Manathunka’s reputation. Among hospitals here in Sydney, it is known as the Matrimonial Bureau. Sisters last no time, and the aides, I am told, are snapped up like hot cakes.”
    If ever Candace needed her Charlotte discipline, it was now. She clenched her fists as if her temper were a solid thing held in her hands, raised her chin proudly, and remarked: “We have a new patient, Doctor. New since you were here last. A seven-year-old girl, Jean Mason. Jeanie dear, this is Doctor Halliday.”
    The little girl looked up shyly.
    “Hullo, Doctor Holiday.”
    “ Halliday, Jeanie,” said Candace.
    Stephen turned on her sharply. “Let her use her own name. A pleasant misnomer from a child is more valuable to me than your correction, Sister. It always puzzles me that in all your years of training, you nurses never manage to absorb any human understanding.”
    This time Candace did not flush, she went very white. Doctor Halliday resumed his rounds, and perforce she went with him.
    “This is your first day here?”
    “Obviously, seeing I only disembarked yester—”
    Candace remembered herself in time.
    “Yes, Doctor,” she corrected docilely.
    A flicker of a smile lifted the corner of Stephen Halliday’s mouth.
    He was grave, however, as he asked, “And your reactions?”
    “Good.”
    “You don’t sound wholehearted.”
    “I’m not, entirely.”
    “What have you found wanting?”
    “It is not my prerogative to say.”
    “Sister Jamieson”—his tone was irascible—“I have asked you a question.”
    She felt rather like an erring schoolgirl standing there before him, and she blurted out her answers almost in the same manner as if she was standing beside a master’s desk “The aides—they are not properly trained.”
    “Manathunka does not profess to be a training college.”
    “No, but they would be more contented, a happier group of girls, if they were being instructed in something worth while. It seems to me such a waste letting them simply fill in time like this.”
    “Waste—that sounds rather like our worthy Matron.”
    “But she is concerned over rice and eggs, not girls.”
    “Oh, so you have discovered that, too.”
    “Sister Arnold told me how meticulous Matron is about the household accounts.”
    “I see Any more complaints, Sister?”
    “Doctor Halliday, I feel it is not my place—”
    “You heard me before, I presume. I am not inviting your opinion, I am ordering it.”
    “Very well. It is outrageous that there is no therapist. These people are crying out for occupation. There should be a special room put aside, and every facility made available for its betterment.