“Tessa Wadsworth! you hateful old thing! you know I shall have to give in, for you are my best friend! There,” laughing, “let me go, and I’ll promise! I’ll say all the ugly things I have to say to his own face.”
They walked on slowly; Sue rambling on and Tessa listening with great interest.
“I had a letter from Stacey last week; Gerald has it in his pocket; he dictated the answer, and I wrote it in my most flourishing style. I’ve got somebody to take good care of me now—if he doesn’t get sick! I don’t like sick people; I made him some gruel yesterday and it was as thick as mush. Oh, the things he promises me when he gets rich! Gets rich! All he wants is for me to love him, poor dear! What is love? Do you know?”
“To discover is one of the things I live for; I know that it suffers long.”
“That’s poetry! I don’t want to suffer long and have Gerald sick. I had to get up last night and make him a mustard plaster, and do you believe I was so sleepy that I made it of ginger? He never told me till this morning.”
In half an hour he drove up swiftly behind them.
“Susan, you can get in; I don’t feel like getting out to help you. I feel very bad, I want to get home.”
He laid the reins in her hand. “You may drive; good-by, Mystic; you and I will have our talk another day.”
“Come and see us,” Sue shouted back.
The horse trotted on at good speed; Sue’s blue veil floated backward; Tessa walked on thinking of Dr. Lake’s pain-stricken face and figure.