“Lois, I’m awfully indebted to you.”
“Not on your life,” said Lois. “You don’t owe me anything, and if you say anything more about it, I’ll get real cross. You can’t imagine how nasty I am when I’m cross,” she laughed. “I’ve had the time of my life nursing you, and Dr. Squires says—”
A beautiful flush came over Lois’ face, and I said:
“Oh, Lois, I do hope you’ll get married and be ever and ever so happy.”
“I’ve got to go to England,” said she. “My parents are there now, and there’s a law-suit over some property a relative who died lately left. You see, I’m the real heir, they say. I’m really a ward in Chancery.”
“Why, Lois, I thought you were an American.”
“So I am. I was born in Massachusetts, but my mother is English, and now I’ve got to go over there to see about this property they say I’m rightful heir to. I’ll have to leave the end of the month.”
“Oh, how I’ll miss you!” I cried. “I don’t know how in the world I’ll ever get on without you.”
“When you get your strength back,” said Lois, “you’ll not feel that way, and you’re going to stay right here and room with me till I go. So don’t worry, whatever you do. Get to work now, and forget everything blue.”
I had not told Lois I was a model. I had simply said that at home I had been an artist.