The doctor took the outstretched hand.
"May I help you further?" he asked.
"I don't see well how you can, but I will take the will for the deed."
"But you do not forbid me to try?"
Philip shook his head despondingly. "You may try, certainly. Matters cannot be worse than they are; only you will waste valuable time."
"Let me be judge of that. May I come to see you?"
Philip hesitated; then, when urged, gave his address, but in a manner indicating that he never expected it to be used.
Dr. Norman, however, was a man of his word. A few days after that chance meeting found him toiling up the steep stairs of block C in Dalmatian Buildings, Marylebone, having ascertained below that the Waldrons' rooms were on the top floor.
"There had need be good air when one gets to the surface here," groaned the doctor, when he reached the top, and paused to recover breath before knocking.
Sounds came from within—a light, childish laugh, a patter of talk. In response to his knock, a step accompanied by the tap-tap of a crutch came across the wooden floor. After some hesitation the door was opened by a pale, brown-eyed child of about seven. A holland pinafore reached to her feet, the right side hitched up by the crutch under that arm, on which she leant heavily. Dark, wavy hair fell over her shoulders, framing a pale, oval face, out of which shone a pair of bright, wide-open eyes.