The stuffy, hookah-smelling room was glorified, full of a celestial light. How quickly she would get well; she was well already—all the dark days were over. Happiness lay ahead, such happiness! She would send him just one little line to tell him she had his letter, that she would write; she composed it in her mind. Or should she telegraph, do both?... When and where they would meet did not trouble her; time was nothing; whatever interval was necessary would pass like a dream.
Mrs. Antonio, returning from her ministrations to the goats and the fowls, found the patient sitting up in bed, a pencil in her hand, writing on half-sheets of paper.
"Now, now," scolded Mrs. Antonio, shaking her forefinger, "doing too much!"
"I am quite well," said Stella. "I feel I could get up and do anything."
"To-morrow, perhaps, out of bed on the sofa. And Pussy will read to you. Such a nice book she has got, called 'Wide, Wide World.' Shall she come just now?"
"Not to-day, dear Mrs. Antonio. I have had some good news in my letters, and I can't think of anything else. I should like to do my hair when I have finished writing, and then have some of your nice tea. And will you send my letter and a telegram for me to the post office presently?"
"Doing hair! Writing letters! Sending telegrams!" exclaimed Mrs. Antonio. "You are wanting to run before walking!"
"Well, do let me run; I promise not to fall down. There, my letter is ready, and the telegram. Now do give me a looking-glass, and a brush and comb, there's a good soul. I feel I want to smarten myself up!"
"I think the doctor will be coming in just now. Better to wait and ask what he says. Listen!" she cocked her ears. "That is him coming back from the bazaar dispensary. I hear the trap. Wait a moment, Mrs. Crayfield dear——"