“Oh, could I travel to New York in a day or two?”
“Is that necessary?” asked the doctor, hesitating.
“I want to very much.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Miss Lancaster, I will give directions for good care of that ankle and I can tell better tomorrow, when the swelling goes down, what the prospect is.”
“He wasn’t very encouraging, was he, Aunt Hilary?” Hilary was lying in bed now, her bandaged foot and ankle on a soft pillow. “I suppose I am crazy to even think of getting to New York, but it does seem—as if—I can’t give up seeing Campbell before—” Hilary was crying again. “Please forgive me for—crying!”
“Poor little girl!” Aunt Hilary was smoothing the hot forehead. “Cry all you want to; perhaps it will do you good. You are all tired out, and I can understand what the disappointment means to you.”
“You will go to the concert tonight, won’t you?” Hilary could always think of some one besides herself.
“Yes if you want me to and if you are fit to be left.”
“Oh, I will be. I guess I am pretty tired and nervous this spring. After you have put it all through, you know——”
“Indeed I do know. Now let me tell you what I am thinking about. The telegram said that the boys were on their way from the south, didn’t it?”