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nurse, obviously seeking for words with which to soften the blow she must deal these two very decorative and interesting women. “Your son, Mrs. Parker, has had a very rough time of it. No, no — I don’t mean that he is blind or handicapped in a physical way. But he has been desperately ill; he has been starved — in short, you must prepare yourself so that you do not let him realize how distressed you will be when you see him.”
    Mrs. Parker was pale but her mouth was set and her eyes were steady. “He will recover,” she stated, and the tone made it a statement rather than a question.
    “Oh, yes, but it will take a long time before he will be quite himself. You must be very patient, and you must take very good care of him.” The nurse smiled warmly at them both and said quietly, “But of course, I know you will. And now, if you will come with me.”
    The nurse led the way swiftly through the corridors. And then they were at a closed door, and the nurse looked quickly at the women who followed her, gave them an encouraging smile and pushed open the door.
    A man lay in the high, narrow bed. At least, he bore some resemblance to a man, although he was so gaunt and emaciated that he was little more than a skeleton, with skin drawn tautly over the bones. He looked long and lifeless beneath the thin covers. His hair was thickly streaked with white and it was not until he turned his head and Geraldine met his eyes that she knew this was Tip.
    The floor seemed to rock beneath her feet. The walls seemed to advance and retreat in some crazy minuet; her eyes blurred and her heart went sick with an agonized pity that sent her across the floor, saying warmly, adoringly. “Oh, Tip, Tip, darling! Oh,
darling!”
    His face lit up as she bent above him and for a moment hid her face against his pillow. His hand went up, shaking a little as though even that effort was almost too much for his frail strength.
    And then he saw Mrs. Parker, and he said in a voice that was little more than a thread of sound, “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Lucy!”
    Mrs. Parker made herself smile though her mouth trembled and great tears slid down her cheeks, but she stumbled to the bed, and said huskily, “My boy! My precious boy!”
    Geraldine pulled herself together and gave way to Tip’s mother. And as she stood a little behind Mrs. Parker looking down at that gaunt, emaciated, fever-ridden skeleton, she knew that it would not be hard to pretend to Tip; she ached with pity, a pity that would make it easy for her to convince him that her love for him had never wavered. He had endured heaven knows what deprivation while finding his way back to Saigon and his own people; he should never have to know that the girl he loved had grown out of love with him! It was a little prayer and a deep, solemn vow in her heart.
    When the first excitement had lessened a little and Geraldine and Mrs. Parker were seated by the bed, the nurse, assured that they had themselves in hand and would not disturb her patient unduly, went away and they talked.
    Tip said, his eyes on Geraldine, “You’re prettier than ever, darling. I’d have sworn that wasn’t possible.”
    She smiled through her tears. “Oh, that’s just because I haven’t had much competition. When you see some of the others back here — ”
    “You’ll always be the prettiest!” he told her firmly.
    There was a gentle knock at the door, and a girl came in. Her crisply cut, smartly fitted uniform marked her as a navy nurse; she was young, not more than twenty-two or three; she had soft red curls and gray-green eyes, and a slightly tip-tilted nose across which a group of tiny freckles marched audaciously. She was not at all pretty, but she was vital and vibrant with life and health, and extremely attractive.
    “Sorry to intrude, Lieutenant,” she said crisply. “But I dropped in to see how you were.”
    Tip’s eyes were warm and eager.
    “Miss Lucy, Gerry — this is Lieutenant Ruth Jamison, my