“What about Violet and Tommy, the paper?” For Ella, too, was bound on the Ixion wheel of the weekly press.
“It’s all right; everything has been arranged, in the best possible way. I am quite free. I shan’t go away until you ask me to go.”
Then I began to cry, in my great weakness, but hid my eyes, for I knew my tears would hurt her. I gave way only for a moment. It was such a relief to know her there, to feel I was being cared for. Paid service is only for the sound.
Ella pretended not to notice my little breakdown, although she was not far off it herself. She began to talk of indifferent things. Who had telegraphed, or rung up; she told me that the news of my illness had been in the papers. All my good friends whom I had avoided during those dreary months had forgotten they had been snubbed and came forward with genuine sympathy and offers of help. I soon stopped her from telling me about them. It made me feel ashamed and unworthy. I could not recollect ever having done anything for anybody.
“About getting Dr. Kennedy back?”
“He neglected you disgracefully; wrote me lightly. I don’t wonder you told him not to call.”
“I want him back.”
“Then you shall have him back. You shall have everything you want, only go on getting better.” She turned her face away from me.
“Have I begun?”
She made no answer, and I knew it was because she could not at the moment command her voice.