Into the pretty bedroom came the great English doctor, a jolly smile on his face as he approached the bed where his patient was lying. ‘Good-morning, your Highness. How are you this morning?’ he cried.
The little girl on the bed looked at him wearily. ‘I am getting better, thank you,’ she replied in listless tones which made the doctor frown.
The younger man who had entered the room with him bent over the child. ‘Still rather tired, my darling?’ he asked tenderly.
‘Just a little, daddy.’
‘It’s the dreadful weather,’ he said, looking out of the window at the rain which poured steadily down. ‘When it’s fine again, you’ll soon be all right.’
‘Shall I?’ Her Royal Highness the Princess Elisaveta Margherita of Belsornia looked at her father with a little wondering smile.
‘Why, yes! That is what good Dr Tracy says.’
The doctor nodded as the great dark eyes were turned on him. ‘Yes, indeed, Highness. It is true. And how would you like to get up for a while this afternoon?’
The Princess shook her head. ‘I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I shall ever want to get up again.’