The physician scratched his head in perplexity.
"No, I am sorry to say she doesn't," he answered. "She does not seem to recognize that name. I wish you and your sister would come in and speak to her again. It may be she will recognize you this time. A little shock may bring her to herself. I have seen it happen in cases like this."
Ruth and Alice again went to the hospital. Estelle was still in bed, but she seemed to be better. But, as before, there was no sign of recognition in the bright eyes that gazed at the two moving picture girls.
"Don't you know me—us?" asked Alice, gently.
"Yes. You were here before, soon after I was brought here," was the answer.
"Oh, Estelle! don't you know us!" cried Ruth, in horror.
"Whom are you calling Estelle?"
"Why, you. That is your name."
"I am not she. You must be mistaken! Oh, I wish they would take me home. I want father—mother—I want Auntie Amma. Oh, why don't they come to me?"
Ruth and Alice looked at one another. What did it mean? This babbling of strange names? Was it possible that they were on the track of discovering the identity of the girl who now denied the name she had given?