“There, there, my dear, it is not so bad after all. Compose yourself. Here comes the nurse.”
The nurse informed Helène that Miss Fisher was conscious and the doctor would allow her to see her friend for a minute—but she must not be excited.
Helène rose eagerly and walked rapidly into the ward. Behind a screen, on a narrow cot, Margaret lay white and helpless. Her head was heavily bandaged so that only her eyes showed. On seeing Helène, she smiled wistfully into the face that was bending over her.
“Hello, darling! I’m all right—only a little bruised. I’ll be out in no time. Wasn’t it lucky? But who’s going to look after you while I’m here, little one?”
The nurse approached and whispered to Helène: “Just say a few kind words for the present. You can come another time.”
“Oh, Margaret, I’m so happy to see you. Don’t worry about me, dearest. I’ll come and look you up as often as I can.”
Margaret looked back her content; she was too ill to speak.
The nurse touched Helène on the arm. It was time to leave. Kissing the pale lips, she retired slowly, looking back at the wan face until the door had been closed on her.
In the waiting-room she found a tall young man by the side of Mrs. Van Dusen.
“This is my son,” said the lady to Helène, “he will take any message, Miss—eh——”