For a moment the other girl’s fingers ceased their busy weaving. “You have never asked me anything about myself, Princess, in spite of all the wonderful things you have done for me,” she began. “I don’t want to bore you, but I should like——”
With a low laugh Betty suddenly hunched her chair forward until it was close up against the larger one.
“And I, I am perfectly dying to hear, you must know, you dear little goose, to talk about boring me! Don’t you know I am one of the most curious members of my curious sex? I have not asked you questions because I did not feel I had the right unless you wished to tell. But possibly I asked that question about Polly O’Neill just to give you a chance. Really I don’t know.”
In spite of this small confession, not for worlds would Betty Ashton have allowed the sensitive little French girl to have learned another reason for her questioning. It was odd and certainly unreasonable, yet in all her recent kindness and care of Angelique she had continued to feel that in some mysterious fashion her friend, Polly O’Neill, was encouraging and aiding her. There was some one at work, assuredly, though she had no shadow of right in believing it to be Polly. For though she had confided in no one, the first anonymous letter in regard to the ill girl had not been the last one. In truth there must have been half a dozen in all, postmarked at different places and all of them unsigned and yet showing a remarkably intimate knowledge of the growing friendship between the two girls.
The first step had been natural and simple enough. For with her usual enthusiasm after her visit to the hospital Betty had immediately set about forming a Camp Fire. She had sent for all the literature she could find on the subject, the club manual and songs. Then she and Mollie, during her visit, and sometimes Meg, had taught the new club members as much as possible of what they had themselves learned during the old days at Sunrise Hill.
For the first few meetings of the club in the great, sunny hospital room there was one solitary girl who would not show the least interest in the new and delightful proceedings. Indeed she kept on with her stupid gazing up toward the ceiling as if she were both deaf and blind.
However, one day when she believed no one looking and while the other girls were talking of their future aims and ambitions and of the ways in which their new club might help them, unexpectedly Betty Ashton had caught sight of Angelique, with her dark eyes fixed almost despairingly upon her.
The other girls were all busy, some of them sewing on their new ceremonial Camp Fire costumes of khaki, others making bead bands or working at basket weaving. In the meanwhile they were talking of Camp Fire honors to be won in the future and of the new names which they might hope to attain.
Therefore, almost unnoticed by any one else, Betty was able to cross over to the side of the French girl’s bed.
“I was wondering if I could not also do some of that pretty work with my hands,” the girl began at once, speaking as composedly as if she had been talking to Betty every day since their first meeting, although this was only the second time that she had ever voluntarily addressed a word to her.