Sweetapple Cove | Page 3

white kid glove, faute de mieux. It was stretched over her fingers,
however, and hence was part of her.
When we reached the restaurant she selected a table and placed herself
so that she might see as many diners as possible. If there had been
people outside of Paradise, Eve would certainly have peeped through
the palings. I handed her the bill of fare and she begged for Cape Cods.
"You order the rest of it," she commanded. "I'm going to look."
While I discussed dishes with the waiter her eyes wandered over the
big room, taking in pretty dresses and becoming coiffures. Then she
watched the leader of the little orchestra, who certainly wielded a
masterful bow, and gave a little sigh of content.
"We really could afford this at least once or twice a week," I sought to
tempt her, "and the theatre besides, and--and--"

She looked at me very gravely, moving a little from side to side, as if
my head presented varied and interesting aspects.
"That's one of the troubles with you," she finally said. "You have some
money, a nice reasonable amount of money, and you can afford some
things, and I can't tell whether you're going to be an amateur or a
professional."
"An amateur?" I repeated, dully.
"I mean no reflection upon your abilities," she explained, hurriedly. "I
know all that you have done in London and in Edinburgh, and these
German places. You can tack more than half the letters of the alphabet
after your name if you choose to. But I don't quite see what you are
doing in New York."
"You wrote that you were coming to study nursing here," I reminded
her. "This is now a great centre of scientific research, thanks to the
princely endowments of the universities. Have you the slightest notion
of how many years I have loved you, Dora?"
"Not quite so loud," she reproved me. "I believe it began in dear old St.
John's. You were about fourteen when you declared your passion, and I
wore pigtails and exceedingly short skirts. My legs, also, were the
spindliest things."
"Yes, that was the beginning, Dora, and it has continued ever since.
During the years I spent abroad we kept on writing. It seemed to me
that the whole thing was settled. I've always had your pictures with me;
the first was little Dora, and the other one was taken when you first did
your hair up and wore long dresses. During all that time St. John's was
the garden of the Hesperides, and you were the golden thing I was
toiling for. When you wrote that you were coming to New York I took
the next boat over. Then you told me I must wait until you graduated.
And now, after your commencement, I hoped, indeed I hoped--I'm
afraid I'm worrying you, dear."
She smiled at me, very pleasantly, but the little dimple held naught but

mystery. I really think her eyes implied a sort of regret, as if she wished
she could make the ordeal less hard for me.
The waiter brought the oysters, which Dora consumed appreciatively. I
was simply compelled to eat also, lest she should deem me a peevish
loser in the great game I had sought to play. Yet I remember that these
Cape Cods were distinctly hard to swallow, delicious though they
probably were.
Suddenly she looked up, and the little oyster impaled on her fork
dropped on the plate.
"There's Taurus!" she exclaimed, with gleaming eyes.
She was looking at a rather tall man, of powerful build, whose
abundant hair was splendidly tinged with silver, and who was coming
in with a very beautiful woman.
"Is that what you nurses call him?" I asked, recognizing one of the
great surgeons of the world.
"Yes," she answered. "Isn't he wonderful? We're all in love with him,
the mean thing."
"Kindly explain the adjective," I urged her. "Is it due to the fact that he
protected himself against the wiles of a host of pretty women by
marrying the sweetest one of the lot--with a single exception--to the
utter despair of the remainder?"
"Did you ever hear him blow up his house-staff?" Dora asked me.
"I have heard that he could be rather strenuous at times," I admitted.
"Well, that's how he infringes on our rights," Dora informed me. "I
have never heard him say an angry word to a nurse. He just has a way
of smiling at one, as if he were beholding an infinitesimal infant totally
incapable of understanding. The sarcasm of it is utterly fierce and the
nurse goes off, red and shaken, and feels like killing him. Don't you

think we've got just as good a right as any whipper-snapper of a new
intern to be blown up?"