"My little friend, you have yet to learn that things, not years, tire us of life."
Lucy shook her head.
"No; I have not to learn it. I know it must be so. Will you please to come to the window?"
Lionel, partly because his tormentor (may the word be used? he was sick, bodily and mentally, and would have lain still for ever) was a young lady, partly to avoid the trouble of persisting in "No," rose, and took his seat in the arm-chair.
"What an obstinate nurse you would make, Lucy! Is there anything else, pray, that you wish me to do?"
She did not smile in response to his smile; she looked very grave and serious.
"I would do all that Jan says, were I you," was her answer. "I believe in Jan. He will get you well sooner than Dr. West."
"Believe in Jan?" repeated Lionel, willing to be gay if he could. "Do you mean that Jan is Jan?"
"I mean that I have faith in Jan. I have none in Dr. West."