But you must do all kinds of things, being a doctor."
Her clasped hands tightened, she put her head of fluffy hair to one
side and looked at Virginia with such frank wonder in her eyes that
Virginia colored under them.
"And," ran on Florrie, forestalling a possible interruption, "I was
ready to poke fun at you last night just for being something capable
and . . . and splendid. There was my jealousy again, I suppose. You
ought to have heard papa on that score; 'Look here, my fine miss; if
you could just be something worth while in the world, if you could do
as much good in all of your silly life as Virginia Page does every day
of hers,' . . . and so forth until he was ready to burst and mama was
ready to cry, and I was ready to bite him!" She trilled off in a burst
of laughter which was eloquent of the fact that Florence Engle, be her
faults what they might, was not the one to hold a grudge.
"I am sorry," said Virginia, smiling a little, "if on my account . . ."
"You were just going to get cleaned up, weren't you?" asked Florrie
contritely. "You look as hot and dusty as anything. My, what pretty
hair you have; I'll bet it comes down to your waist, doesn't it? You
ought to see mine when I take it down; it's like the pictures of the
bush-whackers . . . you know what I mean, from South Africa or
somewhere, you know .
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