DEAR NURSE,—­I am leaving this little pin for you because you have been so good to me.  It isn’t very valuable, but it is all I have.  The five dollars is for the room.  I know it is worth more, but I haven’t any more just now.  You have all been very kind.  Please give the money to the doctor and thank him for me.  Don’t worry about me; I am all right.  I just need to get back to work.

Good-by, and thank you again,
Sincerely,
ROSE BONNER BRENTWOOD.

The nurse rushed down to the office.  A search was instituted at once.  Every one in the office and halls was questioned.  Only one elevator-man remembered a person, dressed in black, going out of the nurses’ side door.  He had thought it one of the probation nurses.

They searched the streets for several blocks around.  It had been only a few minutes, and the girl was weak.  She could not have gone far!  But no Bonnie was found!

The evening mail came in and a letter with a Western postmark arrived for Miss R.B.  Brentwood.  The nurse looked at it sadly.  A letter for the poor child!  What hope and friendliness might it not contain!  If it had only come a couple of hours sooner!

Later that evening, when it was finally settled that the patient had really escaped, the nurse went to the telephone.

Courtland was in Tennelly’s room.  They had been discussing woman suffrage, some question that had come up in the political-science class that day.  Tennelly held that most women were too unbalanced to vote; you never could tell what a woman would do next.  She was swayed entirely by her emotions, mainly two—­love and hate; sometimes pride and selfishness. Always selfishness.  Women were all selfish!

Courtland thought of the calm, true eyes of Mother Marshall and the telegram that had come the day before.  He held that all women were not selfish.  He said he knew one woman who was not.  All women were not flighty and unbalanced nor swayed by their emotions.  He knew two girls whom he thought were not swayed by their emotions.  Just then he was called to the telephone.

The nurse’s voice broke upon his absorption with a disturbing element:  “Mr. Courtland, this is the nurse from Good Samaritan Hospital.  I thought you ought to know that Miss Brentwood has disappeared!  We have searched everywhere, but can get no clue to her whereabouts.  She wasn’t fit to go.  She had fainted again—­was unconscious a long time.  She had a very disturbing call from a young woman this afternoon, who mentioned your name and got up to the room somehow without the usual formalities.  Of course I didn’t know but she had the doctor’s permission, and she came right in.  She brought a lot of dirty evening gowns and tried to give them to my patient, and called her a working-girl; spoke of her little dead brother as ‘the kid,’ and was very insulting.  I thought perhaps you would be able to give us a clue as to where the patient was.  She really was too