"I do, Doctor, and I'm proud to. But so many things have been happening lately," she laughed, a little nervously. "The truth is, I'm really ashamed to talk to you; I'm so lazy."
"That's exactly what I wanted to speak about. Aren't you ready to begin that little school of yours?"
"I'd like to—I should, really," said the girl. "But, somehow, I don't know how to set about it."
"I've been making some inquiries," said the doctor. "There are six or eight among my patients that you could count on—about a dozen young ones. How many could you handle?"
"Oh, I oughtn't to have more than twenty in any case. A dozen would be plenty to begin with. Do you think I could count on them—really?"
"I tell you what I'll do," her friend offered; "I'll take you around and introduce you to any of them you don't know. Most of 'em come here to the dances. There's Mrs. Horsford and Mrs. Blake, and that little Mary Jackson with the twins. You'll find they are mostly friends."
"You are awfully kind," said the girl. "I wish"—her voice took on a sudden note of intensity—"I do wish I were strong, like you, Dr. Bellair."
"I wasn't very strong—at your age—my child. I did the weakest of weak things—"