Her companion hesitated.
“Hasn’t Dr. McClain told you?”
“He has told me nothing save that I might come to see you if I would not stay too long, which is the permission he gives to all our Girl Scouts.”
Kara’s voice was steady with the old-time gentle drawl.
“Promise me then not to expect too much or be too disappointed if things do not turn out altogether well? Of course I am happier to-day, happier than a dozen letters proclaiming me an heiress could ever make me.
“Dr. McClain and two other surgeons who have seen me believe there is a possibility I may be well. They are not absolutely sure. Don’t look so queer, Tory.”
“I don’t look queer, go on,” the other girl whispered, bending her face down so that her lips touched Kara’s hair and her face could not be seen.
“There isn’t anything else to tell, except that I am to go to New York City to be treated and to spend the winter and that Mr. Fenton and Mr. Hammond and Dr. McClain and several other people have made the arrangements and will pay all my expenses.”
Here for the first time Kara’s voice trembled.
“Who says one cannot have beautiful things happen to one even if lost letters do prove disappointing?”