Tender Nurse by Hilda Nickson Page A

passed out in theatre,” he told the House Nurse. “I just want to make sure it’s nothing serious, then I’ll have a word with Nurse Wainwright.”
    He passed his stethoscope over Andrea and was satisfied that there was nothing wrong that a good meal, a couple of aspirins and a cup of tea would not cure.
    “May I go now, doctor?” Andrea asked mischievously.
    “Yes—and have a good sleep in tomorrow before you start gallivanting.”
    “I will.”
    There was always a meal at any time for the theatre staff, and Andrea felt much better for the ham omelette and tea that cook prepared for her.
    She had arranged with Godfrey to stay in that evening to do some studying for her forthcoming examination so that she would be free tomorrow. She stripped off her uniform, feeling desperately tired. She would rest a while before doing her study. She picked up a text book and lay on her bed.
    How wonderful Martin had been to her. She closed her eyes, feeling once more the gentle jog-trot as he carried her in his arms before she had faded out completely. He could just as well have left it to one of the nurses, or even George to carry her round to the sitting room. But he had carried her there himself, she felt sure of it. He had wiped the perspiration from her face with his own handkerchief with such gentleness.
    The next thing she knew, Virginia was sitting on her bed offering her a cup of tea. Somehow Andrea had managed to get under the bed-clothes, but she couldn’t remember how. She had laid on top, she was sure.
    “What ever time is it?” she asked sleepily.
    “Just turned nine o’clock.”
    Andrea sat up. “But it can’t be—the sun is still shining.”
    Virginia laughed. “My dear child, it’s nine o’clock in the morning. You’ve slept since about seven o’clock last night.”
    “You’re joking.”
    “I came in last night at half-eight, and you were sound asleep. I tucked you up and you never even stirred.”
    “Good gracious,” was all Andrea could say.
    Virginia eyed her critically. “George tells me you passed out in theatre yesterday. How are you feeling now?”
    “Oh, I’m all right, really. I suppose I was just tired and the chloroform and ether had given me a headache.”
    “George says Sister was in a bad mood. I wonder——”
    “What?”
    “I’m wondering whether she knows that we went out with George and Martin.”
    Andrea stared at her. “She can’t possibly. We haven’t told a soul. You haven’t heard anybody say anything, have you? Nobody saw us get out of the car—it was dark.”
    “No, I’ve not heard anything. But she may have seen us herself.”
    Andrea set down her empty cup. “It’s not as though Sister gains anything by her attitude. And I feel sure that she has no claim on Martin that would give her the right to be jealous. He always treats her most professionally. I doubt if they’re even friends. Perhaps the time I saw them going to the theatre was the only time they’ve ever been out together.”
    Virginia looked at her keenly, but made no comment. “I must be going back to the ward,” she said. “There’s another cup of tea in the pot, and I’ve put your name down for late breakfast. Have a nice day and give my regards to Godfrey.”
    At five o’clock, Andrea met Godfrey outside the office buildings where he worked.
    “Hello, darling,” he said affectionately as he tucked her arm in his. “I’ve booked a table for tea. You can tell me all your news and what you’d like to do with the evening while we’re tucking in.”
    Later when he sat facing her across the cafe table, he said: “How are you, darling? Your looking rather tired?”
    She answered, smiling: “I shouldn’t be. I slept particularly well last night.”
    “Did you enjoy the theatre the other evening?” he asked after a while.
    “Yes, I did, Godfrey. Very much indeed. It was wonderful.”
    He looked at her shining eyes. “What was so wonderful—the music or the company?” he asked