A DECISION
There was a florist's box in Belinda's little sleeping room on the last
day of her occupancy of it. She was almost afraid to open it at first,
for she feared the card within might bear Doctor Herschall's name.
However, when she had opened it, the roses it contained, which had cost
a dollar a stem, she distributed with lavish hand among the graduating
class. That popular piece of fiction, just then being discussed by the
book reviews, "The Flying Faun," with Frank Sanderson's autograph on
the flyleaf, she hid away, showing it to nobody.
She was unable to put an accusing finger upon a single thing he had
done or said that was discourteous. He was by no means one of those
hybrid creatures--neither flesh, fowl, nor good red herring--known
as "a lady's man." He owned to merely a natural gentleness in his
conduct toward women; and by nature he possessed much of the cheerful
awkwardness of a Newfoundland pup.
Belinda's instincts of motherliness--largely developed in all girls
of her placid and sweet temperament--had really drawn her toward her
patient at first because of these boyish traits. He seemed to her quite
unspoiled; there was nothing artificial about him. If his glances
boldly betrayed his admiration for his nurse, his lips uttered only the
most considerate expressions of approval. He had never taken advantage
of his situation as so many of her patients did. Miss Trivett was
right. Beauty in a nurse is not always an asset.
Yet Belinda felt in her heart that Frank Sanderson had not been honest
with her. Had she not overheard his brother's remark she would never
have suspected the aviator of being a married man.
The "Stella" mentioned by the brothers, though the aviator's wife and
evidently the mother of the "kiddies," was plainly not beloved. Either
the couple were legally separated, or their married life was a farce.
Only on that single occasion had Sanderson mentioned the woman--and
never to his nurse.
The discovery had halted instantly any advance Belinda might have
contemplated toward a closer friendship with the aviator. There had
already been intimate moments between them when youth had called
strongly to romance--when each had lifted for a little the veil which
hid those secret lives we all live.
Belinda had thought she saw what lay behind Frank Sanderson's reckless
bearing and volatile spirits--and approved. There were deeper currents
in the aviator's soul than the shallows he showed to the world in
general. She felt that he had a far more serious reason for taking up
the perilous work of aviation than he was willing ordinarily to admit.
On the other hand, she had hinted at some portion of her doubts and
uncertainties for the future in her disclosures to Sanderson. He did
not understand entirely what she meant; had he done so he would never
have hastened away from the hospital, accepting the night nurse's
observations for facts, and leaving only the flowers and the book as a
reminder of his friendly intercourse with Belinda.
When the girl bade the matron and her particular friends among the
nursing staff good-by that last evening and left the hospital by the
side exit with her bag, it was her fate to meet Doctor Herschall
likewise going out. Or had he waited for her?
"We lose you, do we, Miss Belinda?" he said, taking her bag with his
usual assurance. "We shall miss you--none more than I, Fräulein, I do
assure you."
"You are very kind, Doctor," murmured the girl, wishing that she might
rid herself of him.
But she had no inspiration for his dismissal. His way could not
possibly lie in the direction of her home, yet he took that turning as
a matter of course.
She could not afterwards have repeated their desultory conversation,
even in part. She was confused and nervous--as she always was in the
surgeon's company.
"I shall do myself the honor of calling upon you and your good aunt,
Fräulein," declared he, "and at an early date."
"I--I think I may go away for a change and rest," she stammered.
"All the more reason for my making my call soon, then," said Doctor
Herschall coolly. "I have something of importance to say to you."
"Oh, I feel you would better not come, Doctor Herschall!" she cried
desperately. "Really, I do not feel fit for--for company. I am quite
done up."
"I hope I shall not miss you when I call, Miss Belinda," he repeated,
his keen eyes searching her averted face. She was looking at his empty
right hand, its long, pliant fingers working spasmodically, as they did
when he was in earnest. She realized that they were wonderfully able,
dexterous fingers; yet when she saw them work in that nervous manner
she always thought of them as clutching in a horrid way for an enemy's
throat.
"If I should miss you," purred the Herr Doktor, "I shall come again
and yet again. My time is not altogether my own, as you know; but no
sacrifice would I count too great, Miss Belinda, for the pleasure of
your society."
He left her at the door and strode away. Belinda's cheeks burned
furiously and she bit her lip to keep back the sobs. She was both
enraged and afraid.
He took so much for granted! There was no use in trying to show the
Herr Doktor his place.
"I hate him!" she gasped.
His assurance and masterfulness almost cowed the girl's spirit. Belinda
Melnotte was not one who ordinarily shrank before any human being; the
influence of the black-browed surgeon upon her mind was almost uncanny.
"I hate him!" she repeated. "I wish I might never see him again!"
However, she felt it would be impossible to refuse Doctor Herschall
admittance when he called. She could easily imagine what the visit
would be like. Aunt Roberta would refuse to sit in the room with him.
To the little Frenchwoman the big Prussian doctor was pariah. Nor could
Belinda play neutral between them.
Therefore she gladly seized the opportunity offered the next evening to
escape from the house. Somebody called her up and asked her to attend a
neighborhood Red Cross chapter meeting.
"Just to countenance the affair, you know, my dear. We are endeavoring
to get dollar members and interest people in our work in France."
Tante was willing to attend, albeit in a critical spirit. She did not
believe that anything of real worth was being done by Americans for
"the dear _poilus_ of _la belle_ France."
Belinda went, however, with an open mind. Already she had contemplated
Red Cross work, although she really knew very little about it. To-night
an earnest man, just from the battlefields of war-wrecked Northern
France, addressed the rather apathetic audience. In the summer of 1916
it was difficult to find an audience in America that was otherwise
regarding any phase of the great war. The speaker was a grim-looking
little man, ugly and in earnest; yet there was a saving twinkle in his
eye.
"I am here for the specific purpose of getting as many dollar bills
out of your purses as I can to-night," he said in the course of his
remarks. "A dollar bill is a little thing after all. You pay it over
and it does its work. But the thrill of giving it does not last long.
"Do you want--" he cried, rising on his toes and suddenly smiting the
table before him with a clenched fist--"do you want to get a lasting
thrill--one that may last a year--two years--perhaps to the very hour
of your death? Then, enlist with us. We need men and women alike--men
and women of pluck and who possess sanctified common sense.
"_You_ are needed--needed right in the battlefield hospitals I have
tried to tell you about to-night. We want men and women of some
experience and proven ability--not failures; for those who are failures
in one walk in life are almost always failures in any other position.
Our recruits must be modest, even-tempered, inventive and enterprising,
ready to go anywhere and do anything upon the shortest possible notice.
"We need the best of you, and the best there is in you. Nor can we pay
you, or offer you anything but a modicum of fame. You will hear of the
Red Cross doing much; but the names of the actual doers of these things
are seldom exploited.
"It is, indeed, an enlistment in an army of peace, working to alleviate
the horrors of armies at war. There are no medals, no honorable
mention, no promotions on the field of valor by brevet or otherwise.
And we demand perfect obedience to stern rules, and that each enlisted
man and woman shall give every ounce of strength of mind and body he or
she possesses.
"Now, this is the opportunity I offer you, besides the chance to give
dollars to the Red Cross. We want men and women who will work without
salary and without hope of seeing their names or pictures in the
papers. Come on and sign up for the work. But don't crowd."
He sat down suddenly amid the half nervous titter of a part of his
audience. They did not crowd. The workers circulating through the
hall gathered some harvest of money and several promises of future
contributions. When the meeting was adjourned Belinda left Aunt Roberta
to have a word with the lean little hospital-worn man.
"I wish to serve," she said.
"Yes--Miss----?" He scrutinized her with growing approval.
"Melnotte. I am my own mistress. I hold a nurse's diploma." She told
him the name of the hospital. "I can afford to pay my own expenses."
"And you wish to serve--where?"
"In France. I speak the language."
"When can you be ready, Mademoiselle?"
"To-morrow."
"Good! The _Belle o' Perth_ sails the day after. There are others of
our forces going by her. It can be arranged. You know that the crossing
will be dangerous?"
"More dangerous than the work on the battlefields?" she asked him
quietly.
"Gad! No, Mademoiselle."
"Tell me what to do--how to go about it," she said simply.
Afterwards, when the girl had gone back to Aunt Roberta, the man most
heartily congratulated himself.
"If I haven't done anything else on this trip, I've netted a good one
there!" he thought.
But how much he influenced Belinda's decision, how much her dislike
and fear of Doctor Herschall urged her into the work, or how much
her disappointment in Frank Sanderson had to do with it, it would be
difficult to say. Most important decisions arise from mixed motives.
She did not discuss this phase of it at all. She merely said to Aunt
Roberta:
"We are going."
"_Ma foi!_ Where?"
"To France--to Paris first."
"_Oui! Oui!_ My child, those are the sweetest words you have ever said
to me!"
Aunt Roberta asked no further questions.