It was not easy. The habits of years are not to be conquered in a day. But for Merryl, her faithful remembrancer, she would have failed much oftener than she did; and she forgot or let slip her new duties quite often enough. She could not but note that Mrs. Royston, perhaps half unconsciously, turned far more to Merryl than to herself, in the blank left by Pen; and this again spoke sharply to Magda, spurring her to renewed efforts.
Till late in February no one saw anything of Patricia. Even when the doctors gave leave, she steadily refused to admit any of her friends. Bee and Magda were often at the door, making inquiries, only to be denied admittance.
And each time that Magda went, she came away with a sense of relief; for she dreaded the first meeting. Words of sympathy never flowed from her with ease; and she could not feel at home in a sick-room.
So when a little pencil-note at length arrived, asking her to go that afternoon, her first exclamation was of dismay.
"What is it?" Merryl asked.
"Patricia wants to see me."
"Oh, I'm glad! It is so bad for her, being shut up as she is."
"I'm not glad. I don't know what in the world to say to her."
"Magda—how funny you are! I should have thought—so fond of her as you used to be—!"
"I'm fond of her now in a way. But don't you understand—if she is as much altered as people say—how is one to take it?"