Jack tried to lift his head: "What is her message?" he asked with
expectant eyes--perhaps she had sent him a letter!
Miss Felicia tapped her bosom with her forefinger.
"ME!" she cried, "I am her message. She was so worried last night
when she found out how ill you were that I promised her to come
and comfort you; that is why it is ME. And now, don't you think
you ought to get down on your knees and thank her? Why, you don't
seem a bit pleased!"
"And she sent you to me--because--because--she was GRATEFUL that I
saved her father's life?" he asked in a bewildered tone.
"Of course--why shouldn't she be; is there anything else you can
give her she would value as much as her father's life, you
conceited young Jackanapes?"
She had the pin through the butterfly now and was watching it
squirm; not maliciously--she was never malicious. He would get
over the prick, she knew. It might help him in the end, really.
"No, I suppose not," he replied simply, as he sank back on his
pillow and turned his bruised face toward the wall.
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