"Where am I? What am I here for?"
"Your doctor is away, he will be back to-morrow—soon," the nurse corrected herself. "Then perhaps you—may go out."
"But why am I here? This is a hospital, and I am not ill."
"No, not exactly ill," and Mary Bell had her own very serious doubts about the condition of the young patient—never had she seen a demented girl so perfectly sane. "But it is best for you to await your own doctor's orders," she finished.
"My own doctor? What is his name, please?"
"Dr. Ashton. Do you remember him?"
"I have never heard the name before," replied Dorothy, looking about her anxiously at the sanitary appointments of the white room. "I suppose this is a sanitarium for nerves."
"You have been here long enough to know that much," said the nurse with a smile, "but you seem to have a new kind—of nerves."
"I have only been here a few hours, I should judge, but it did seem an eternity. Are they not going to send for my friends? They will be distracted. I have been away from them for so long."
Again that uncertain look came into the face of the nurse. Surely if this girl had been demented she must now be very much better. Her talk was entirely rational.