“Did my sister wire the superintendent at Charity?” she asked, very anxiously.
“Yes, and both Dr. Hall and Miss Williams wired back their regrets. They said for you not to worry, but just get well as soon as possible. And I guess you are going to mind them,” she added, with a smile, “for now that the shock to the brain has passed, I hope to send you home to your friends very shortly.”
There was a little rustle of skirts and a light footstep coming down the ward.
“Is she better?” asked a cheery voice from the other side of the bed.
Marion recognized it instantly and turned her head on the pillow. The lady who stood beside her was her dear friend, Alma Allyn. Miss Allyn was a woman of twenty-five, fine-looking, stylish and far wiser than the average.
She was a newspaper reporter, with an excellent position, and had befriended the two country girls ever since they came to the city.
“We’ll take you right up to Harlem to the flat now,” she said, as she kissed Marion fondly, “and I’ll have a nurse to take care of you until you are well, unless Dollie insists on giving up her position.”
“Then she did not lose it?” said Marion, in surprise.
Miss Allyn looked grave, but she tried to speak cheerfully.
“No, she did not lose it, in spite of your plain speech, Marion. Such men as her employer do not give up their projects so easily, but this accident of yours has made her do a little thinking. I fancy her lover will have no cause to complain of her in future.”