But there was something else. She had begun, that afternoon, to doubt
whether she was fitted for nursing after all. The quiet of the hospital,
the all-pervading odor of drugs, the subdued voice and quiet eyes of the
head of the training school, as of one who had looked on life and found
it infinitely sad, depressed her. She had walked home, impatient with
herself, disappointed in her own failure. She thought dismally: "I am of no earthly use. I've played all my life, and now I'm paying for
it. I ought to." And she ran over her pitiful accomplishments: "golf,
bridge, ride, shoot, swim, sing (a little), dance, tennis, some
French--what a sickening list!"
She was glad that day to find Clare Gould waiting for her. As usual, the
girl had brought her tribute, this time some early strawberries. Audrey
found her in the pantry arranging their leaves in a shallow dish.
"Clare!" she said. "Aren't you working?"
"I've gone on night-turn now."
The girl's admiration salved her wounded pride in herself. Then she saw,
on a table, an envelope with her name on it. Clare's eyes followed hers.
"That's the rest of the money, Mrs. Valentine."
She colored, but Audrey only smiled at her.
"Fine!" she said. "Are you sure you can spare it?"
"I couldn't rest until it was all paid up. And I'm getting along fine. I
make a lot, really."
"Tell me about the night work."
"We've gone on double turn. I rather like it at night. It's--well, it's
like something on the stage. The sparks fly from the lathes, and they
look like fireworks. And when they hammer on hot metal it's lovely."
She talked on, incoherent but glowing. She liked her big turret lathe.
It gave her a sense of power. She liked to see the rough metal growing
smooth and shining like silver under her hands. She was naively pleased
that she was doing a man's work, and doing it well.
Audrey leaned back in her chair and listened. All this that Clare was
talking about was Clayton's doing. He at least had dreamed true. He was
doing a man's part, too, in the war. Even this girl, whose hand Natalie
Spencer would not have touched, this girl was dreaming true.
Clare was still talking. The draft would be hard on the plant. They were
short-handed now. There was talk of taking in more girls to replace the
men who would be called.
"Do you think I could operate a lathe, Clare?"