After fifteen minutes of futile effort at concentration he flung down the paper and strode to the door of the stateroom.  A white linen arm answered his gentle knock.  There was a moment’s consultation, then the nurse came out and Larry went in.

On the couch the girl lay very still with half-closed eyes.  Her long blonde braids tied with blue ribbons lay on the pillow on either side of her sweet, pale little face, making it look more childlike than ever.

“I can’t see why I can’t remember,” she said to Larry as he sat down on the edge of the other cot opposite her.  “I try so hard.”

“Don’t try.  You are just wearing yourself out doing it.  It will be all right in time.  Don’t worry.”

“I can’t help worrying.  It is—­oh, it is horrible not to have any past—­to be different from everybody in the world.”

“I know.  It is mighty tough and you have been wonderfully brave about it.  But truly I do believe it will all come back.  And in the meanwhile you are going to one of the best places in the world to get well in.  Take my word for it.”

“But I don’t see why I should be going.  It isn’t as if I had any claim on you or your people.  Why are you taking me to your home?” The blue eyes were wide open now, and looking straight up into Larry Holiday’s gray ones.

Larry smiled and Larry’s smile, coming out of the usual gravity and repose of his face, was irresistible.  More than one young woman, case and non-case, had wished, seeing that smile, that its owner had eyes for girls as such.

“Because you are the most interesting patient I ever had.  Don’t begrudge it to me.  I get measles and sore throats mostly.  Do you wonder I snatched you as a dog grabs a bone?” Then he sobered.  “Truly, Ruth—­you don’t mind my calling you that, do you, since we don’t know your other name?—­the Hill is the one place in the world for you just now.  You will forgive my kidnapping you when you see it and my people.  You can’t help liking it and them.”

“I am not afraid of not liking it or them if—­” She had meant to say “if they are at all like you,” but that seemed a little too personal to say to one’s doctor, even a doctor who had saved your life and had the most wonderful smile that ever was, and the nicest eyes.  “If they will let me,” she substituted.  “But it is such a queer, kind thing to do.  The other doctors were interested in me, too, as a case.  But it didn’t occur to any of them to offer me the hospitality of their homes and family for an unlimited time.  Are you Holidays all like that?”

“More or less,” admitted Larry with another smile.  “Maybe we are a bit vain-glorious about Holiday hospitality.  It is rather a family tradition.  The House on the Hill has had open doors ever since the first Holiday built it nearly two hundred years ago.  You saw Uncle Phil’s wire.  He meant that ‘welcome ready.’  You’ll see.  But anyway it won’t be very hard for them to open the door to you.  They will all love you.”