She came up to my bedside and smiled frankly at me. I got a pronounced odor of Santal.
"Well, how are you to-day?" she said jovially. "Do you feel better?"
I said that I did, noticing that she wore three rings on her left hand. It was good to see her so full of life and energy.
"You certainly were a sight when you were brought in," she went on; "I was frightened to death. I never saw any one unconscious before, and I thought you were dead, for sure. Isn't it lucky the doctor was here? I'm awfully sorry your auto was smashed up so, for I'd like to try it myself. I've been wanting one. Yours is a foreign make, isn't it? I've been looking it over. It's a water-cooled engine, I see. But I want a six-cylinder. I'm going to see if Uncle Jerdon and I can't patch it up so that it'll go."
"Fancy a girl's caring about machinery!" I said, smiling at her enthusiasm. "You're the last person in the world I'd ever think would have any interest in it."
"Why?" she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, and, turning down her sleeves, covered her round, strong arms.
"I thought that you were more of the artistic temperament."
"Oh, I like to use my hands," she said. She held one out, its fingers stiffly opened, then clenched her fist firmly. "They're stronger than they look. Try it!"
She took my hand in hers and gave me a grip as strong as any ordinary man's.
"That comes from your violin practice, I suppose," I remarked.