"I haven't got a handkerchief."
He lifted his apron and from the pocket of his blue serge trousers he produced an unfolded handkerchief, which he gave her.
"I have a little sister just about your age," he said.
Lita's face was in the handkerchief as she asked. "How old?"
"Let me see," said the doctor. "I think she must be twelve."
A slight sound that might have been a sob escaped from Lita, and the doctor was so moved with compassion that he patted her on the head. Then the door of Room 11 opened and his professional duties called him away.
A moment later he came out, bearing Aurelia away to the operating room, and Lita went into Room 11 to wait. He promised as he passed to come and tell her as soon as it was over.
She felt perfectly calm now as she sat grasping his handkerchief in her hand. It was fine and embroidered in two letters—L. D. She ran over the L names and found she liked nearly all of them—Lawrence, Lionel, Leopold—not so good, though Leo was all right—Lewis—oh, of course, it was Lewis! She said the word aloud.
How still the house was! Now they were probably giving Aurelia the anæsthetic; now—