Marion shook her head:
"I can't see that I walk one bit better than I did a month ago, though I am better other ways. But I don't mean to dwell on it," said Marion, after a little silence and speaking more cheerfully; "only sometimes, you know, I can't help thinking about it, and it seemed as if it would do me good to say it out to somebody."
"Have you said anything to the doctor?" asked Betsy.
"No; I am afraid."
"I would ask him if I were you," said Betsy, with decision; "I'd know just what he thought about it. I dare say he would tell you it wasn't half so bad; and anyhow, I would know the truth."
"I believe you are right," said Marion. "I mean to ask him the next time he comes. There's the dinner-bell. Stay and have some with me. I am not going out to the table to-day, because all the Weilands are here, and I don't feel like facing company and being questioned by those girls. Please, mother, can't Betsy dine with me to-day?"
"To be sure," answered Mrs. Van Alstine. "I was going to propose Henry, who does not want to face company, either, but I can as well provide for three as two. I will send in the little table, and, Betsy, you must wait on Marion."
The small dinner-party was more cheerful than the large one, at least so the "middle boys" declared when they "burst in on the secret revellers," as Bram said.
"Lucky folks!" grumbled Frank, depositing himself at full length on Betsy's late couch, the hearth-rug. "I say, Marion, is there any tea left in that pot?"
"Plenty, you old tea-drinker. Give them some, Betsy."