Barbara's eyes followed her father fondly as he went out and down the hall to his own room. When his door closed, Roger came to the other chair, sat down, and took her hand.
"It's not really necessary," explained Barbara, with a faint pink upon her cheeks. "I shall probably recover, even if my hand isn't held all the time."
"But I want to," returned Roger, and she did not take her hand away. Her cheeks took on a deeper colour and she smiled, but there was something in her deep eyes that Roger had never seen there before.
"I've missed you so," he went on.
"And I have missed you." She did not dare to say how much.
"How long must you lie here?"
"Not much longer, I hope. Somebody is coming down next week to take off the plaster; then, after I've stayed in bed a little longer, they'll see whether I can walk or not."
The Crutches
She sighed wistfully and a strange expression settled on her face as she looked at the crutches which still leaned against the foot of her bed.
"Why do you have those there?" asked Roger, quickly.