"You've met a nice young man?"

"There are lots of nice young men." Then she saw her mother's look of anticipation. "No, I haven't met anyone."

"You meet so many at the hospital. I know you prefer men as patients."

"Not because I'm looking for eligible ones.'

It was something of a joke among the nurses.

When there was

a choice, Miss Grant always preferred a male patient.

"Grant is afraid she'll be an old maid. Every male's a prospect," they teased.

She was asked, "What's wrong with womon?"

"Too fussy," Miss Grant tried to say lightly.

"You're one.

"That's how I know," she answered.

For a long time she tried to convince herself that female patients were more demanding, more irritable, more completely invalids than male patients. Gradually, she knew the reason. She was more comfortable in carrying out her nursing duties with men. In caring for women, she was often nervous and even embarrassed. Miss Grant didn't know why. She did know that in caring for male patients she was at ease and felt able to cope with any situation which might present itself.

The phone rang.

"Is Miss Grant up yet?" It was the voice of the assistent directress.

"This is she."

"This is Miss Boles, from Lincoln Hospital. Could you help us with a hysterectomy tomorrow seven till three? I know

you prefer male patients, but you're one of the few who isn't working."

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