he turned: "And how many in my room?"

Miss Kirby gasped. "I'll go see."

"None," she reported, "and none in the spare-room. Patrick, these must
be children from--the hotel. Oh dear, was there ever such a girl!"

The doctor looked about him, more slowly this time, seeing Lydia in the
bed, Norma on the lounge; seeing the little, flushed contented faces;
seeing the stockings hanging ready for the morning from the mantelpiece;
seeing, and here his glance rested longest, Patricia in a low chair
before the fire, Totty in her arms, both fast asleep; noting the tired
droop of the dark head against the baby's yellow one.

He might have known Patricia would never be content to sit idle, when
just at hand was so much of pain and suffering to be relieved.

"Isn't it exactly like Patricia?" Miss Kirby sighed, wearily.

"Yes," the doctor's voice was very gentle, "I think it is--exactly like
Patricia." Crossing the room, he carefully loosened Patricia's grasp,
taking Totty from her.

Patricia stirred and opened her eyes. "Daddy! Oh, I am glad you're back!
But, please, please, be very careful not to wake Totty; I'm so afraid
she'll get to crying again."

The doctor laid Totty beside Norma. "Suppose you come downstairs, Pat,
and explain this invasion of the premises to your aunt and me," he said,
holding out his hand to her.