Valerie had never been in a public hospital, and when she walked into the long ward with the night nurse she got a funny gulp in her throat, and a sense of the vast areas of human experience that had so far been unknown lands to her. She was struck silent by the piteousness of the two rows of white cots and the shapeless lumps that lay under the white quilts. The ward was always full, for this was the only hospital on the river. There were all kinds of heads and faces projected sharply against the pillows. Some turned as they walked in and others, gripped by a benumbing indifference to the things of earth, lay still. She saw that three beds had screens round them, and wondered what stricken things lay there to be hidden away from the rest. She was glad she was to sit with her back to them. She felt she could never have played if she had had to face them.
She dug out of her memory the things she thought her varied audience would like, cheerful things, happy songs and dances, and a little sentimental music to stir the pulses of the dreamers. She had asked the nurse to stop her when it was advisable, but no one stayed her hand. At last her mood began to break. Something began to distract her. She finished rather abruptly a waltz by Brahms and turned on her stool. Half-way down the ward, sitting with the nurse, she saw Dane Barrington. She stood up and they came towards her.
“Oh, will you sing?” she said impulsively to Dane.
He gave her a black look. “Sing! Good God! How could I sing here?”
She felt chilled at once at the pain in his eyes. But she resented his suffering.
The nurse thanked her eloquently and moved off to a man who had beckoned to her.
“Are you riding?” asked Dane.
