After long and strenuous attempts he gave up the struggle.
"Mandy!" he exclaimed aloud to the forest trees. "That Mandy! What's
gone wrong with my eyes, or am I clean off my head? I will go back," he
said with sudden resolution, "and take another look."
Straight back he walked to the hospital, but at the door he paused. Why
was he there? He had no excuse to offer and without excuse he felt he
could not enter. He was acting like a fool. He turned away and once more
sought his quarters, disgusted with himself that he should be disturbed
by the thought of Mandy Haley or that it should cause him a moment's
embarrassment to walk into her presence with or without excuse,
determinedly he set himself to regain his one-time attitude of mind
toward the girl. With little difficulty he recalled his sense of
superiority, his kindly pity, his desire to protect her crude simplicity
from those who might do her harm. With a vision of that Mandy before
him, the drudge of the farm, the butt of Perkins' jokes, the object of
pity for the neighbourhood, he could readily summon up all the feelings
he had at one time considered it the correct and rather fine thing to
cherish for her. But for this young nurse, so thoroughly furnished and
fit, and so obviously able to care for herself, these feelings would not
come.
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