“We’re ever so glad you’re better.”
“You really are better, aren’t you?” inquired Geraldine, anxiously.
“Oh, yes, indeed; I’m almost well. I’m to go home the day after to-morrow. Percy is coming for me in the automobile. He and Barbara have stayed here most of the time, but since I’ve been so much better they have gone home at night. Barbara was here all this morning; I’m sorry you didn’t come in time to see her.”
“You’ve been dreadfully ill,” said Geraldine, solemnly.
“I suppose I was at first, but I didn’t know anything about how ill I was till I began to get better.”
“Too bad you had to have your hair cut off,” observed Jerry, in a tone of regret.
“Oh, Miss Simpson says it will soon grow again,” Gretel assured him cheerfully. “The scar on my forehead won’t show so much then either. It’s rather pleasant to have short hair in this hot weather. Have you gone to the country yet?”
“No, but we’re going to-morrow; that’s why we came to see you this afternoon. Mother brought us, and she’s coming back in half an hour. She sent her love.”
“Mother cried about you when you were so ill,” said Geraldine. “You see, she was afraid you were going to die. I cried, too, and I think Jerry did, though he didn’t want anybody to see him do it.”
“I did not,” declared Jerry, indignantly, and he grew so red, and looked so uncomfortable that Gretel hastened to change the subject by saying—