She had vaguely expected to find the sick girl in bed, her head swathed in bandages, the room darkened and orderly. The sight that met her eyes as she entered, at a half-muffled "Come in," was as different as possible from that picture. The room was in great disorder, and bright with the glare of the morning sun. Both of the twin-beds were unmade—and empty. But at one of the windows, her back to the room, stood Virginie de Vos, staring out into the street. She did not turn round as Patricia entered.
"I beg your pardon—good morning," ventured Patricia, timidly. "I came at the request of your—of Madame Vanderpoel, who said you were ill. Is there anything I can do for you? Oughtn't you to be in bed?"
Still with her back to her visitor, Virginie shook her head. Suddenly, however, she whirled around. Her eyes were red and swollen with crying, but there were no tears in them now.
"Thank you—oh, very much! It is so thoughtful of you to come! My head does not ache—at least, not now. I am better. I do not need any care."
"But surely, there must be something the matter! You—you cannot be feeling quite well. Madame Vanderpoel said you were suffering severely," returned Patricia, thoroughly puzzled.
"Whatever it was, I am better now," muttered the girl, almost sullenly. "But you are—you are so kind!" she added, and her eyes lit up with a friendly gleam for an instant.
"Look here," cried Patricia, in sudden determination, "perhaps you are feeling better, but your headache may return. Now, I have a plan to propose. It's very hot and glaring and noisy in this room. You see, it's on the street side and you get all the racket from this busy avenue. Beside that, it hasn't been made up yet. Come over and spend the morning in our sitting-room with me. It's so quiet and pleasant there, for it faces on the little park at the back. I'll darken it up, and you can lie on the couch, and I'll read or talk to you—or just let you alone to sleep. Please come!"
Her manner was so cordial, so urgent and convincing, that Virginie visibly wavered.
"I ought—I ought not." She hesitated. "You do not know—you cannot know—"
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Patricia, impatiently. "What earthly reason could there be for not coming? Just come right along, and we'll have a lovely time. I'm awfully lonesome, and you probably would be, too, alone here all day. So come!"