No one would know he meant Sister Anne, save two people--Sister Anne and himself; but for her and for him that was as many as should know.

In his story he had used real incidents of the day; he had described her as she passed through the wards of the hospital, cheering and sympathetic; he had told of the little acts of consideration that endeared her to the sick people.
The next morning she would know that it was she of whom he had written; and between the lines she would read that the man who wrote them loved her.

So he fell asleep, impatient for the morning.

In the hotel at which he lived the REPUBLIC was always placed promptly outside his door; and, after many excursions into the hall, he at last found it.

On the front page was his story, "The Red Cross Girl." It had the place of honor--right-hand column; but more conspicuous than the headlines of his own story was one of Redding's, photographs.