Free Nurse Linnet's Release by Averil Ives Page A

and a great deal of strength of mind and purpose in a constant companion. There must be no giving way to her when she resorted to those attractive wheedling methods, and no allowing the stronger will of an invalid to get the upper hand. Linnet was not at all sure that her own will was strong enough to cope without outside assistance with anyone like Diana Carey, who although small and apparently fragile was, she felt secretly certain, a most dominant personality.
    “If you’re quite sure I’m the right type—?” she asked, looking a little uncertainly at the doctor.
    For an instant he looked surprised.
    “Right type?” he echoed. “My dear Nurse Kintyre, I haven’t a doubt of it!”
    “Splendid!” Diana cooed. “And we’ll be leaving in about a week, nurse, and Dr. Willoughby is going to drive us all the way there. Isn’t that lovely?”
    Outside in the corridor Linnet found that the doctor had followed her, having said a somewhat hurried farewell to his patient.
    “I’m inclined to forget that I’ve a great many calls on my time when I find myself inside Aston House,” he told her, and she accepted that as a confession that he found it difficult to tear himself away from the golden-haired Diana.
    She smiled at him a trifle mechanically, but said nothing as they walked along the corridor together.
    “You’re quite happy about this—this new arrangement, Nurse, aren’t you?” he asked, looking downwards and sideways at her a trifle keenly. “You wouldn’t have preferred time to think it over?”
    “Oh, no, I don’t think so. So long as you think I can give satisfaction,” she added.
    “I’m quite sure of it,” he told her.
    Before they reached the end of the corridor he suddenly smiled with a touch of almost boyish inquisitiveness and asked:
    “As an old St. Faith’s nurse are you going to their dance tonight?”
    She looked up at him in surprise.
    “Yes—although I don’t think I’m really entitled to do so. But Nurse Blake and I have both been invited.”
    “I see,” he said, but he did not ask whose were the invitations they had accepted. “Well, I hope you enjoy yourself, Nurse,” and with the merest inclination of the head he left her at the open gateway of the lift.
    That night when she got upstairs to her room Linnet found Cathie already occup y ing it, wrapped in a bath robe, and anxious to borrow a handful of face tissues.
    “I must do something about my face,” she said, “and the one thing I forgot was face tissues. But I’ve a wonderful new face pack, described as a miracle face-pack, which I shall apply while I’m in the bath, and that will give it plenty of time to work.” She examined her face in Linnet’s dressing-table mirror for several seconds before departing with the face tissues, and just as she was leaving she asked: “By the way, darling, what are you wearing? I forgot to ask you before whether you’ve been rash enough to indulge in something new?”
    “As a matter of fact I have been rather rash,” Linnet admitted, and went to the wardrobe and lifted out a new evening-dress. Cathie gave vent to a whistle, and then her whole face beamed approval.
    “If that isn’t exactly your dress I’m a Dutch-woman!” she exclaimed.
    Linnet shook it out on its hanger, and the creamy-pink swirls of net which comprised the skirt swayed like a creamy-pink cloud. It was like the heart of a china rose, so delicate, so gossamer that only anyone as delicate and fragile-looking as Linnet could have worn it. The bodice was tiny and draped, with a few glittering sequins adhering to it, and Linnet had chosen sandals as insubstantial as moonbeams to go with it.
    “If that doesn’t knock Roger Sherringham cold I’ll eat my hat!” Cathie declared. “In fact, there’s no doubt about it, you’ll be the belle of the ball! Even I, in my near-Dior creation, won’t come anywhere near to you!”
    Linnet laughed at the flattery, but being accustomed to Cathie’s flights of