The President retired and the students filed soberly and quietly from the gymnasium.
“How do you feel now, dear?” asked President Walker, leaning over Molly and taking her hand.
“Much better, thank you,” answered Molly, timidly.
“Could you hear what I was saying to the girls?” continued the President, looking at her closely.
“Yes,” faltered Molly.
“Think over it, then. And you had better stay in bed a few days until you feel better. Have you prescribed for her, doctor?”
The doctor nodded. He was a bluff, kindly Scotchman.
“A little anæmic and tired out. A good tonic and more sleep will put her to rights.”
Mary Stewart had telephoned for a carriage to take Molly home, and Judy, filled with passionate devotion when anything was the matter, hurried ahead to turn down the bed, lay out gown and wrapper and make a cup of bouillon out of hot water and a beef juice capsule; and finally assist her beloved friend—whom she occasionally chastened—to remove her clothes and get into bed.
“I may not have many chances to wait on you, Molly, darling,” she exclaimed, when Molly protested at so much devotion. “I may not have a chance after mid-years.”