"I can't afford a trained nurse," Dreux objected, "and you don't need one, anyhow."
"All right for you, Bernie; if you don't care any more for my life than that, I'll sicken and die. When a girl's relatives turn against her it's time she was out of the way."
"Oh, all right," said her brother, angrily. "It's ruinous, but I suppose you must have it your way."
Myra Nell shook her head gloomily. "No—not if you are going to feel like that. Of course, if she were here she could cut off my hair when I take to my bed; she could bathe my face with lime-water when my beauty goes; she could listen to my ravings and understand, for she is a—woman. But no, I'm not worth it. Perhaps I can get along all right, and, anyhow, I'll have to teach school or—or be a nun if I'm all pock-marks."
"Good Lord!" Bernie wiped his brow with a trembling hand. "D'you think that'll happen, Norvin?"
"It's bound to," the girl predicted, indifferently. "But what's the odds?" Suddenly a new thought dilated her eyes with real horror. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh! I just happened to remember. I'm to be Queen of the Carnival! Now, I'll be scarred and hideous, even if I happen to recover; but I won't recover. You shall have my royal robe, Bunny. Keep it always. And Norvin shall have my hair."
"Here! I—don't want your hair," Blake asserted, nervously. "I mean not without—"
"It is all I have to give."
"You may not catch the smallpox, after all."
"We'll—have Miss Fabrizi b-by all means," Bernie chattered.