“About my—my invalidism.”
“Why, you’re a very sick man, of course,” replied Holly. “Auntie is quite worried about you at times.”
Winthrop laughed.
“But you’re not, I suspect. I fancy you have guessed that I am something of an impostor. Have you?”
“Mh-mh,” assented Holly, smilingly.
“I thought so; you’ve been so fearfully attentive with that—lovely medicine of late. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself to cause me so much affliction?”
“Aren’t you ashamed to impose on two unsuspecting ladies?”
“Well, seeing that I haven’t fooled you I don’t think you need to say ‘two.’ But I’m not altogether to blame, Miss Holly. It was that scheming Uncle Major of yours that beguiled me into it. He declared up and down that if I wanted to remain at Waynewood the only thing to do was to continue being an invalid. And now—well, now I don’t dare get well!”
Holly laughed gayly.
“If you had owned up before, you would have been spared a good many doses of medicine,” she said. “It was lots of fun to make you take it! But now I don’t reckon I’ll have the heart to any more.”