Ingrid tried to sit up. "What?"
"It's good to put the hurt feelings aside and appreciate his friendship, but the same problem exists today that existed when I left, and it's the same one you'll all face, too. Married nurses don't do what we do. Most married women don't work at all."
Nora tapped out a staccato scale on the piano, treble down to bass, one note per name. "Maggie. Catherine. Aurelia. Eliza. May. Iris. Annabelle. Jane. And that's just from our little hospital in the last year. You get married, you go home. Red Cross policy."
"And there's no work for them at home, either," Frances said. "Back in London, even with a war on, they won't hire a married woman in the hospitals. It is just a shame the world is not very accommodating to married women with brains. If we are widowed, our minds are miraculously restored, we are cured of our hysterics, and we are useful again."
"But for Victoria now, that's it?" Ingrid asked. "Here is Matthew after all this time, like fate. Can it really never be?" Victoria turned and met her gaze. "It has only been a few days. I enjoy his company but I must be realistic. The world has changed, but if the needs of war and half a million wounded men don't make a married nurse acceptable then I don't know if it's changed enough."