"Doctor! What a terrible thing to say!"
"It is true. The child needs rousing—she is losing all interest in life. She has been subjected to a terrible shock."
"Of course she has," replied Mrs. Dolman; "but the extraordinary thing is that a child of ten years of age should feel it so much."
"It is not extraordinary in that sort of child," replied the doctor. "Can you not see for yourself that she has a very delicate and a very nervous organism. She has lately, too, lost her mother, has she not?"
"Yes; and I believe the child was very fond of her; but, indeed, I may as well say that I never saw anyone more sensible than little Iris about that. She scarcely seemed to grieve at all. Of course, I dare say she was very sorry, but she did not show it."
"All the worse for her," answered Dr. Kent. "If she had given way about her mother, and allowed her grief to get the upper hand, she would not be so ill as she is now. Then came the second blow—the extraordinary loss of the children."
"Then you really think her very ill?" said Mrs. Dolman. "I would do anything to save her, doctor. These four children were put into my care by their father."
"Where is the father now?" asked Dr. Kent.
"He must have nearly reached the Himalayas by this time."
"Is it possible for you to communicate with him?"