Sam could see no reason for her question; in extenuation and
explanation he glanced at her uniform.

"I thought you were at work here," he said simply. "I beg
your pardon."

He stepped aside as though he meant to leave her. In giving
that impression he was distinctly dishonest.

"There was no other reason," persisted Sister Anne. "I mean
for speaking to me?"

The reason for speaking to her was so obvious that Sam
wondered whether this could be the height of innocence or the
most banal coquetry. The hostile look in the eyes of the lady
proved it could not be coquetry.

"I am sorry," said Sam. "I mistook you for one of the nurses
here; and, as you didn't seem busy, I thought you might give
me some statistics about the Home not really statistics, you
know, but local color."

Sister Anne returned his look with one as steady as his own.
Apparently she was weighing his statement. She seemed to
disbelieve it. Inwardly he was asking himself what could be
the dark secret in the past of this young woman that at the
mere approach of a reporter--even of such a nice-looking
reporter as himself--she should shake and shudder. "If that's
what you really want to know," said Sister Anne doubtfully,"
I'll try and help you; but," she added, looking at him as one