"What is the meaning of this?" she asked one morning. "Nurse says you are fretful and fractious."
"She insisted on soaping the soles of my feet and tickling me into torments, which made me fractious, and I'm dying to see your face, which makes me fretful."
"Since when have you been dying?" she asked.
"From the first moment I heard your voice saying, 'How are you feeling now?' It's irritating to have a friend and not in the least know what she is like. Besides," I added, "your voice is so beautiful that your face must be the same."
She laughed.
"Your face is like your laugh," I declared.
"If my face were my fortune I should come off badly," she said in a light tone. I think she was leaning over the foot-rail, and I longed for her nearer presence.
"Nurse has tied this bandage a little too tightly," I said mendaciously.
I heard her move, and in a moment her fingers were busy about my eyes. I put up my hand and touched them. She patted my hand away.
"Please don't be foolish," she remarked. "When you recover your sight and find what an exceedingly plain girl I am, you'll go away like the others, and never want to see me again."