"Bravo! My pretty dolly is made to open its eyes!" cried a cheery voice, and there by her side was old Mrs. Harbert, gazing at her smilingly.
Evarne looked slowly around. This was not her own room—no—all those artist's studies—where was it? Then she remembered. She must surely be in Mrs. Harbert's own domain.
Her lips shaped the words, "What am I doing here?"
"Ah, ha! My dolly talks," was the only answer she received.
The girl tried to arouse herself further, but enthralled by a heavy lethargy, she abandoned the attempt, and gradually fell asleep once more.
When next she awoke the sharp sound of a falling cup had aroused her more thoroughly. She lifted her head slightly from the pillow. There stood Mrs. Smithkins, looking at her with much concern.
"Lor' now, I do 'ope I 'aven't done no 'arm by wakin' yer up!"
"Am I ill?" whispered Evarne.
"You've bin at death's door," impressively replied Mrs. Smithkins, with obvious satisfaction.
"I remember. I was going downstairs. Did I fall? Tell me everything."