“Well, Miss Tibbutt didn’t seem quite satisfied about her,” owned Trix. “It was a letter from her made me come. And then I thought perhaps she’d been mistaken, and I’d been silly to think there was any need of me, and that—well, that I’d been a little officious. It’s a depressing sensation,” sighed Trix.
Doctor Hilary laughed.
“So that was the cause of the depression,” quoth he.
Trix nodded. “It was rather silly, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“I am not sure,” he said.
“It was such an idiotic little thing to worry about,” said Trix
Doctor Hilary looked thoughtful.
“Perhaps. But isn’t it just the little things we do worry over? They are so small, you know, it’s difficult to handle them. It is far easier not to worry over a thing you can get a real grasp of.”
Trix smiled gratefully.
“I am so glad you understand,” she said. “I am always doing things on impulse. I fancy I am indispensable, I suppose, and then all at once I think what a little donkey I am to have interfered. It is so easy to think oneself important to other people’s welfare when one isn’t a bit.”