Just what I mean--I appreciate the work of a trained nurse; I
understand the ministering angel part of it; but you--I'm not
talking about anybody else; I'm talking about you--you are
too young! Somehow you are different; you are not meant to
wear yourself out fighting disease and sickness, measuring
beef broth and making beds."

Sister Anne laughed with delight.

"I beg your pardon," said Sam stiffly.

"No--pardon me," said Sister Anne; "but your ideas of the
duties of a nurse are so quaint."

"No matter what the duties are," declared Sam; "You should
not be here!"

Sister Anne shrugged her shoulders; they were charming
shoulders--as delicate as the pinions of a bird.

"One must live," said Sister Anne.

They had passed through the last cold corridor, between the
last rows of rigid white cots, and had come out into the
sunshine. Below them stretched Connecticut, painted in autumn
colors. Sister Anne seated herself upon the marble railing of
the terrace and looked down upon the flashing waters of the
Sound.

"Yes; that's it," she repeated softly--"one must live."