"The one near the window or the one near the door?"
"The one near the window," answered Dot.
The nurse took her cape and her hat. Dot recognized her now as the pretty, brown-eyed nurse who had smiled at her the day she had made her reservation. She began to help Dot out of her dress, and Dr. Stewart withdrew. Another nurse appeared with a basin of water and a glass jar holding a green liquid. The two nurses made the bed with rapid quietness. Dot's bag was unpacked. She was helped into a nightgown and kimono.
Dr. Stewart returned. In his hand he held a string of tiny blue beads that would have made a bracelet for Dot.
"This goes around the baby's neck," he explained. "It is clamped on, you see, and not unfastened until you reach home. It is so that the babies have no possible way of getting mixed."
For the first time Dot noticed that seven of the beads were white and that each bore in black print a letter of the name "Collins."
"That's very nice," she said, absently. The pains were beginning to make her thoughtful.
Dr. Stewart disappeared. The nurses loomed whitely out of the darkness. It reminded Dot rather of a moving-picture where a certain character fades out and another appears. Noiselessly they erected a little white screen around her bed. A little brass lamp was switched on. The light fell on the bed and did not spread beyond the screen.
"Will you lie down?" The brown-eyed nurse was Miss Harris. She had a soft, soothing voice.
There were apparently a great many things they had to do to her. They moved about busily, preparing her for the operating table. There was enmity between the two nurses, obvious even to Dot, who was not in a particularly observant mood. Miss Brown was a coarse, heavy-handed girl with a rough voice, whose manner, acquired in a
