“Another taxi! I’m ruining you, Claire. How I do hate sponging on other people!”
“Wouldn’t you do it for me, if things were reversed?”
“Of course I should, but it’s so much more agreeable to help than to be helped. It’s ignoble, I suppose, but I do hate to feel grateful!”
“Well! No one could by any possibility call you gracious, my dear. Is that any consolation?” cried Claire mischievously, and Sophie was surprised into the travesty of a smile.
Dr Blank was at home, and listened to what Sophie had to tell him with grave attention. He expressed satisfaction to hear that her holidays had begun, but when questioned as to his probable report to Miss Farnborough, had no consolation to offer.
“I am afraid I must tell you honestly that you are not fit for the work. Of course, it is quite possible that there may be a great improvement by September, but, even so, you would be retarding your recovery by going on with such exhausting work. You must try to find something lighter.”
Sophie laughed, and her laugh was not good to hear.
Claire said firmly—
“She shall find it! I will find it for her. There’s no need to worry about September. What we want to know is what she is to do now?—to-morrow—for the rest of the holidays?”
“I can’t afford any more injections! They’ve done me no good, and they cost too much. I can’t afford any more treatments. I can only take medicines. If you will give me some medicines—”