"Oh, come!" I broke in, "you are improvising as you go along. You would not look so rosy and good-humored if you had been lying awake all that time. You will not make me believe such ponderous fibs," I added, throwing my hat and parasol wearily on the bed.
"You are quite too cute, Amey," she answered, rising slowly and taking my arm affectionately, "in fact you are a genius my dear," she added in a pompous tone.
"So they all tell me," I retorted quietly, "and yet I feel very much like other people."
"Well, you are not like other people, indeed you are not!" she exclaimed earnestly. "If you were I would never have liked you."
"Don't you like 'other people'?"
"Not generally, some other people I do, but not all Mon Dieu! non pas tous!" she added, shaking her head emphatically and looking abstractedly before her.
The current of her thought must have changed suddenly, for she raised her face with a bright expression upon it now and said
"Let us do something—something to keep us alive—What shall it be?"
"We might drink your cod liver oil," I suggested; "it is recommended for that purpose, is it not?"
"How smart you are Miss Hampden!" she exclaimed. "Well, I will leave all that sport to yourself, it has no charm for me, I know," she then cried, interrupting herself, "let us go to your room, and you will show me all your pretty things. I have not seen anything since you came, such a prisoner as I have been."