"Of course. I'm always willing to help out where I'n needed," Miss Grant answered.

Mrs. King was ready for surgery when Miss Grant arrived. The night light of the lamp provided only enough illumination to outline the furniture and the figure on the bed. The heavily draped window excluded the greyness of early morning dawn.

Moving noiselessly across the tiled floor, Miss Grant studiod the patient. A sixth of a grain of morphine had Mrs. King breathing slowly and evenly. The form on the bed was slight; the skin fair. The nose had a soulptured look. The mouth was full and soft-looking. A trace of lipstick remained on the lower lip. Wisps of dark hair outlinód the face under the whiteness of the oporating room cap. Miss Grant took the pulse, noticing the elendor whiteness of the hand, The breathing changed. She saw large dark eyes, pupils now pin-pointed, watching her.

Miss Grant smiled.

"I'm glad."

"Go back to sleep."

"I'm your nurse, Miss Grant."

Sho noodn't have said it, for the eyes looked unseeingly for a moment, then closed.

When Miss

The hour in surgery was routing and une voitful.... Grant accompanied the unconscious form back to the room, she was met by a solicitous Mr. King who said he had battery trouble, otherwise he would have arrived before the operation. Not until he was sure that Mrs. King was aware of his presonoo did he leave for his job.

Several days later Mrs. King said, "I didn't want a private nurse, but my husband insisted. Now, I m glad I have you. From the moment I looked up and saw you standing there, I wasn't afraid."

Miss Grant smiled. "I know. You thought I locked big onough to tackle anything.

"No, not that. But capable."

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