"I knew if I was awfully ill Miss Bab would be nice to you, and so I took the quinine," murmured Margery.
"You dreadful child!" cried Bab, indignantly, springing away from Tom's side.
Margery turned away without a word, hiding her swollen face, her tears, and her wounded heart in the pillow.
"Bab doesn't mean that, Margery," said Tom, gently. "You are giving her greater pain than her physical suffering, Bab; you know she adores you. Be just to the poor mite, and remember her motives were good, even if you don't like her methods," he whispered hastily.
Bab knelt contritely, and took the queer, forlorn little figure in her arms. "No, of course I didn't mean that," she said. "Forgive me, Margery. What made you think of such a very strange thing to do?"
"The Bible says you ought to lay down your life for your friends, doesn't it?" sobbed Margery, drying her eyes on the ruffle of her nightgown sleeve in default of a handkerchief.
"It says you can't prove greater love than by dying for them—yes," said Bab.