"It is all about a letter to her father which she wishes Madam Adler to write for her; and now the thing is impossible."
"Why cannot you write it for her, eh?"
"She will not have me to do it; no, not on any account," replied Evelina somewhat pettishly.
"Humph!" The doctor gazed out of the window for a moment, and then turning to her he said quickly,—
"You are very good to the child—careful, gentle, patient? These things are an absolute necessity."
"I do all I can to please her," said Evelina, blushing hotly under the doctor's earnest gaze. "But sick children are full of fancies."
"It is a privilege to nurse such a child. Had I not my own hands full of work, and the sick and the dying to think of, I should come and sit here day and night to watch by her and comfort her.—Eh, little one," he said, turning suddenly round and moving again towards the bed, "shall I come to-morrow morning early and write that letter for thee to thy father?"
"Oh, wilt thou?" cried Violet with a sudden access of unmeasured delight as she stretched out her arms gratefully. "That will be too lovely;—and thou canst tell him everything, and that Violet is quite well, and so—so—"
"Happy," suggested the doctor.