“That will be a long time,” said May, with a weary sigh; “I am not much past twenty now—a long, long time.”
“It seems long to look forward to, but time passes quickly enough, especially when it is fully employed.”
“It is about this that I meant to speak to you of, doctor,” continued May, and a faint color stole to her pale cheeks. “If I am going to live I must do something to gain my own living; I must find some employment.”
“Everyone is better employed,” answered the doctor, cheerfully; “it’s good for mind and body alike. Now what do you think you would like to do?”
“Since I have felt a little better I have thought of this constantly. I—I should like to see Mr. Webster about it, as he might be able to help me.”
“I am sure he will do anything to help you; he is your sincere friend, and has been most anxious about you during your illness, and has called each morning to inquire for you. Therefore you may depend on his assistance, I am certain, and, I may add, on mine.”
“You are very good—”
“And now I am going to ask you a question which is not a medical one,” interrupted the doctor, “and, therefore you need not answer it unless you like. But have you no friends, no relations, to whom you can now apply?”
“None!” answered May, with sudden emotion; “I wish to be as one dead to everyone I know—they must think me dead, and I would have been, but for—”