A Match for Sister Maggy by Betty Neels

stems…’ She looked rather wildly at him.
    â€˜Maggy, you’re babbling.’ He was laughing at her. She didn’t know whether to laugh with him or cry; she felt unaccountably like doing both. He stopped laughing and said quite seriously,
    â€˜I want to talk to you. Will you be here next Wednesday?’
    She nodded and said goodnight in a low voice, then fled through the door and over to her office, and stood amongst the roses until she heard him shut the door. Then she picked a bunch of roses from one of the vases and went over to the Sisters’ Home.
    Maggy lay awake a long time trying to think sensibly. But good sense had no chance against the wisps of wild dreams floating in and out of her head. She wondered what he wanted to see her about, and then caught the tatters of her common sense about her, and told herself sharply to stop behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl and go to sleep.
    In the morning the first thing she saw was the bunch of roses, and she remembered what Sister Beecham had said when they had met on the way to her room the night before.
    â€˜Red Roses, MacFergus? Who’s in love with you?’
    â€˜In love with me?’ She must have sounded stupid, for the older woman had answered impatiently, ‘Of course. You must know that men send red roses to the girls they love.’ She had sniffed. ‘Still, perhaps they don’t do it nowadays.’
    At the memory of her remark, Maggy said ‘Nonsense’ very loudly and got out of bed, deliberately filling her mind with thoughts as practical as the uniform she was putting on.
    Â 
    She had little time for private thoughts during the next few days. Mrs Salt, prostrate after a sudden bout of pain and sickness, needed a great deal of encouragement and attention if she was to survive to celebrate her birthday. It took the combined skill and cunning of the nursing staff, coupled with pep talks from Sir Charles and the house physician, to get her sitting up against her pillows again.
    Maggy had another problem on her hands too— Madame Riveau, due to go home in a couple of days, looked increasingly ill. Despite this, her husband and son asked sullenly each time they came if she could leave immediately. To her surprise, Madame Riveau had consented to have her teeth X-rayed on the morning of her discharge, but Maggy guessed that she had not told either her husband or her son. If she could persuade them to wait until the day the doctor had agreed upon for her discharge she could be seen before they called to fetch her home. The woman had been a lot of trouble and she would be glad to see her go.
    Wednesday came at last. When she went into Sep, Maggy was greeted by Mevrouw Doelsma, whose manner was faintly tinged with excitement, but she chatted guilelessly while Maggy helped her out of her armchair and back into bed. When she was once more sitting back comfortably against the pillows she gave a contented sigh.
    â€˜It’s wonderful to get up each day now, but bed is so delightful afterwards. I’m doing well, aren’t I, Maggy?’
    She was answered by a muffled voice from under her bed, where Maggy was lying, plugging in a second lamp. Sep, as Maggy had so often said, had been designed by a man with no imagination. The wall plugs were all ground level, behind the bed, and the nurses had long ago discovered that it was both quick and easy to reach them by getting under the bed rather than to pull the bed out fromthe wall, and then push it back again. Mrs Doelsma, having seen this operation performed countless times, thought nothing of the shapely pair of legs sticking out from under the side of her bed, but continued to address them.
    â€˜Do you suppose I shall be able to go home soon? I’ve been very happy here, but now I feel almost well again, and I should like to go back to Oudehof.’
    Her voice tailed off. Her son was standing in the doorway; he gave a half smile in greeting and raised an