"What time does Shirley go to bed?" the doctor asked, standing in the doorway.
Rosemary looked up, a little troubled.
"Why she always went to bed at half-past seven when Mother was well," she answered, "but since she was sick, Shirley got in the habit of staying up till Sarah goes and sometimes Sarah won't go till I do."
"And what time do you go?" inquired her brother.
Rosemary blushed and began to knit faster.
"I'm supposed to go at nine," she admitted, "but sometimes it is—later. Honestly, Hugh, I don't see why I should go to bed at nine o'clock like a little girl; I'm twelve, you know."
"Half-past eight would be better," said her brother, coming over to sit on the arm of her chair, "but if Mother didn't object, we'll still say nine. You are a little girl, dear, in spite of your great age, you see. What about Sarah?"
"You ask more questions than any one I ever knew," cried the exasperated Sarah with bitter frankness. "I wanted to read my rabbit book, but Shirley teased and I played dominoes to please her. And now I suppose you'll be saying I ought to go to bed!"
"Rosemary?" said Doctor Hugh.
"Sarah is supposed to go to bed at eight o'clock," announced Rosemary reluctantly. "She used to argue with Mother nearly every night. No one ever wants to go to bed early, Hugh, and lots of the girls stay up till ten."