"Who is it?" came from the girl.
"It is I, Jessie. Can't I do something for you?"
"No, I don't think you can," she returned, quickly.
"The others told me you had a headache. I'm very sorry to hear that. I wish I could do something to make you feel better."
"You can't do a thing."
"I might get a hot-water bottle, or some chopped ice, or—or—something," he faltered, not knowing how to go on.
"Oh, Dave, don't be silly!"
"Silly! So now I'm the one who's silly; am I?" he returned. But there was more of slyness than bitterness in his tone.
"Dave Porter! Was there ever such a boy! Now you must go away and leave me alone!"
"All right, Jessie, if you want me to go away I'll go. Just the same, I want you to know that I'm awfully, awfully sorry that you have a headache. I'd rather have it myself."