"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?"

"Evidently," I assented. "It is an unfair discrimination."

"And yet we're all just crazy for him. You can hardly understand how the
personality of the man permeates the wards, how he gives one the
impression of some wonderful being who has reached a pinnacle, and
remains there, smilingly, without heeding the crowd below that worships
and cheers. And how the patients adore him!"

She evidently expected no answer from me, nor did I venture upon one. Her
words were very significant, and gave me a rather hopeless feeling. She
was under the influence of the glamour of great names and reputations.
Her youth demanded hero-worship. Measured by her standards I was but a
nice friend, to whom she could even be affectionate.

Presently, in her enjoyment of our modest little dinner, she turned to
me, appearing to forget the crowd, and sighed happily.

"This would all be so delightful," she said, "if...."