"There, there, my dear," said Mary. "Don't let it worry you. Neither have I."
It had cost her nearly three dollars to pay the restaurant check and the taxi-driver, but that pang had passed. She was amazed at her own indifference.
"But, don't you understand? I'm going to be sick—sick! And who's going to pay for it all? I won't be a charity patient; I won't go to a hospital. And my job! I've been trying so long and—and just when I get one—such a wonderful chance—I—oh, it's going to drive me mad, I tell you."
"Never mind; there'll be other chances. Perhaps the lady will wait. Drink your water."
But Miss Norcross pushed the glass aside.
"Jobs never wait," she moaned. "People always have to wait for jobs. That's what I've been doing, and now—now—oh, isn't it simply fiendish? And my head aches so!"
"Of course, dear. But never mind. I'll see you through. Perhaps I'll get a job myself, and——"
The sick girl gripped Mary's arm tensely.
"My job!" she whispered. "You'll take mine!"