No old-faced little boys in reefed man-trousers appealed to
her sleeping pity.
[Illustration: It would be something interesting to do.]
"Best thing we could have done," whispered Uncle Em to his wife,
watching the girl's animated face. "But I'm afraid it's going to be
tough on you, my dear."
"Never mind me," smiled back his wife cheerfully. She was at that moment
warm and wearied, with a dull headache with which to begin the day. But
Aunt Em was the sort of woman who courts discomforts which to her loved
ones masquerade in the guise of comforts. She had never been given a
daughter of her own to make sacrifices for; she must make the most of
Gloria.
"I wish you liked to travel as well as Gloria and I do, my dear." His
wife did not like to travel at all; it was a species of torture to her.
"I like to have you and Gloria like it," she smiled.
* * * * *
A few days after the newness of Cheyenne had worn off a little, Gloria
sat in the window of her hotel room writing a letter. It had come to her
suddenly that she would write to the District Nurse. It would at any
rate be something interesting to do, and if the letter elicited an
answer, how very interesting that would be! What kind of letters did
District Nurses write?
Gloria had gone back, in convenient interstices of her new life in
this strange city, to mild musings on streets where poverty dwelt
undisguised.
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