The Glass Slipper Read Free

brisk and not pompous. And he had a way with women, a charm that went straight to the nurses’ hearts. Except, that is, with Rue. She hated men who had a way with women. She hated men whom nurses from their feminine-burdened world adored. And she hated Andy Crittenden after she had nursed Crystal.
    But he was like a son to Brule except in years; he shared Brule’s offices; he had been from the first Brule’s protégé and friend. Even after Crystal’s death and the things Brule must have guessed, Brule still was Andy’s best friend. He sent him patients, he permitted Andy to pinch-hit for him when Brule himself had other and more important irons in the fire; if Brule had a confidant, Rue thought, it must be Andy Crittenden. Brule, then, was as sensitive to Andy’s charm as any of Andy’s fluttering female patients. There was nothing Rue could do about it; and she had been trained in a hard school to keep quiet when she could do nothing. She had to admit — for Rue had the habit of honesty — that Andy was a good doctor, he might even have had the brilliant career that had already begun for him without Brule’s help. She had nursed for Andy as she had for Brule, and she gave him grudgingly a professional respect. And because of Brule she’d had to accord him a surface friendliness.
    He emptied his glass and poured another, while Rue, a small straight figure, watched him with implacable eyes. Drinking too much, too, she thought; a man as young as Andy Crittenden didn’t need two stiff highballs to brace himself for — well, for what? Why was he there? And where was Brule?
    He put down the glass and then sensed her presence and turned. He wore tails and a white tie, and all the nurses in the hospital would probably have swooned away from sheer admiration. Rue’s mouth tightened. He said: “Ah, there you are. I was waiting for you.”
    She came into the room toward him. Odd how a beautiful gown gave you poise and an ability to appear gracious whether you felt gracious or not. “For me?”
    He was ill at ease. He said: “Yes, of course. Didn’t Brule telephone?”
    Andy always knew more of Brule’s affairs than she, his wife, knew. Was it possible that she was jealous of Andy? No, certainly not. She had other and fully sufficient reasons for her hatred.
    He noted her hesitation. He said quickly: “I expect he didn’t have time. He was hurrying off. He said he had a patient. He meant to telephone to you himself. He can’t make it tonight. He — he sent me instead. If you don’t mind.”
    “You mean he can’t go?” It was a disappointment; she’d been depending upon Brule’s assurance and support.
    “Brule ought to have telephoned. He — it’s one of those things — he said he couldn’t help it. He was awfully sorry. Do you mind awfully if I — take you instead?”
    “Thank you. It’s kind of you. But I think I won’t go tonight. I — I didn’t really feel up to it anyway. I — was only going because Brule wanted me to go. I —” To her own astonishment and with a slight feeling of shame she resorted to the old and tried excuse. “I’ve had a headache all day…”
    He was watching her, his blue eyes narrowed and keen.
    “You look well,” he said rather dryly. “I never saw you look better. Or knew you to have a headache.”
    Before she realized his intention he came to her, touched her cheek with the back of his hand then put cool strong fingers on her pulse. Never lie to a doctor, thought Rue absurdly as she forced herself to meet his eyes openly. For a sharp, still instant they stood there facing each other.
    Then Andy released her wrist.
    “I want you to go,” he said abruptly. “There’s a special reason. I’ve got to talk to you.”

CHAPTER II
    L ater, in the warm motor, purring quietly along Michigan Boulevard, she wondered a little that she had given in so easily. Was it habit, because she had for five years obeyed Brule and obeyed Andy’s least and smallest order? Was it