“Doctor Brentwood told me you were much better,” he went on, still nervously, “and I hope soon to see you quite well.”
May made no reply for a moment or so, then she looked up in his face.
“And did Doctor Brentwood tell you anything else?” she asked. “Did he tell you that I wish to find some employment at once?”
“He told me something of this,” answered Webster, taking a chair and drawing it nearer to her; “but for you to do anything at once is, I am sure, impossible.”
“But I must, indeed I must, Mr. Webster,” said May, earnestly. “I can not any longer be a burden to you—I know I have been—”
Here she paused, and tears came unbidden into her eyes, and she turned away her head to hide her emotion.
“Do not, I entreat you, speak thus,” said Webster, also much moved. “I have only been too happy, too thankful, to have been of any use to you. And anything I can do for you, anything that a most sincere friend can do, I am sure you know I will do.”
“You have been most kind, most good,” faltered May. “But—but do not let us speak of the painful past; it upsets me, and unfits me for what I have got to say, for what I must do. What I want is to find some work, some employment.”
“And what have you thought of?”