Touched by the unexpected sympathy, Araminta raised her head to look at him.  “Oh Doctor—­” she began,

“Doctor Ralph,” said the young man, sitting down on the bed beside her.  “My father is Doctor Dexter and I am Doctor Ralph.”

“I’m ashamed of myself for being such a baby,” sobbed Araminta.  “I didn’t mean to cry.”

“You’re not a baby at all,” said Doctor Ralph, soothingly, taking her hot hand in his.  “You’re hurt, and you’ve been bothered, and if you want to cry, you can.  Here’s my handkerchief.”

After a little, her sobs ceased.  Doctor Ralph still sat there, regarding her with a sort of questioning tenderness which was entirely outside of Araminta’s brief experience.

“You’re not to be bothered any more,” he said.  “I’ve seen your aunt, and she’s not to set foot in this room again until you get well.  If she even speaks to you from the hall, you’re to tell me.”

Araminta gazed at him, wide-eyed and troubled.  “I can’t take care of myself,” she said, with a pathetic little smile.

“You’re not going to.  The lady who lives here is going to take care of you.”

“Miss Evelina?  She got burned because she was bad and she has to wear a veil all the time.”

“How was she bad?” asked Ralph.

“I don’t just know,” whispered Araminta, cautiously.  “Aunt Hitty didn’t know, or else she wouldn’t tell me, but she was bad.  She went to a man’s house.  She——­”

Then Araminta remembered that it was Doctor Dexter’s house to which Miss Evelina had gone.  In shame and terror, she hid her face again.

“I don’t believe anybody ever got burned just for being bad,” Ralph was saying, “but your face is hot and I’m going to cool it for you.”

He brought a bowl of cold water, and with his handkerchief bathed Araminta’s flushed face and her hot hands.  “Doesn’t that feel good?” he asked, when the traces of tears had been practically removed.

“Yes,” sighed Araminta, gratefully, “but I’ve always washed my own face before.  I saw a cat once,” she continued.  “He was washing his children’s faces.”

“Must have been a lady cat,” observed Ralph, with a smile.

“The little cats,” pursued Araminta, “looked to be very soft.  I think they liked it.”

“They are soft,” admitted Ralph.  “Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t know.  I never had a little cat.”

“Never had a kitten?” cried Ralph.  “You poor, defrauded child!  What kind of a kitten would you like best?”

“A little grey cat,” said Araminta, seriously, “a little grey cat with blue eyes, but Aunt Hitty would never let me have one.”

“See here,” said Ralph.  “Aunt Hitty isn’t running this show.  I’m stage manager and ticket taker and advance man and everything else, all rolled into one.  I can’t promise positively, because I’m not posted on the cat supply around here, but if I can find one, you shall have a grey kitten with blue eyes, and you shall have some kind of a kitten, anyhow.”