Denys knocked at the first door in the entry, and asked if the Adams's were likely to be in, and which their room was.
She thought the woman looked at her curiously, as she gave her the number on the third floor.
"They're in," she said, with another of those curious looks; "they're in, 'cept the little girl and the baby. I took 'em to the Nursery to be out of the way."
Denys passed on and knocked softly at the door indicated, and Pattie followed trembling, for this was no coincidence—this was reality.
Jim himself opened the door, and when he saw Denys he drew back with a gasp.
"Is Harry at home?" she asked. "You said I might come and see him."
Jim tried to answer, but no words would come. He drew back for Denys to enter, however, and Pattie followed her timidly, and Jim closed the door softly behind them.
Once more he tried to speak—to explain—but Denys did not notice him. In the centre of the room, where the afternoon light fell full upon it, stood a child's crib, and on the white pillow lay the beautiful, familiar little face that had so won its way into her heart.
"Harry," she said softly, crossing the room quickly and longing to hear again the tones that were so like Jerry's, "Harry!"
Was he asleep? She bent over the crib, and then turned bewildered to Jim.