Dolly slipped a ring on the little girl's finger.
"That's a sign you are my little sister for ever and ever," she said, with a kiss.
"Can't I ever grow big?" asked Hanny seriously.
Mr. Beekman laughed at that.
"You must come down and see me," he exclaimed. "We're going to move next week, and we always take Katchina. Come and have a good time with us."
The little girl was asleep in grandmother's arms when they reached home. And the old lady gently took off her pretty clothes and laid her in the bed.
"She's by far the sweetest child you've got, Marg'ret," she said to Mrs. Underhill.
That was not the end of the gayeties. Relatives kept giving parties, and the bridesmaids were asked. Margaret began to feel as if she knew Doctor Hoffman very well. He liked Annette, too. Perhaps he would marry Annette. They had all been saying, "One wedding makes many."
It seemed so queer to be without Stephen. The little girl began to realize that they had somehow given him away, and she did not quite enjoy the thought. He and Dolly came down and stayed two days, and, oh, dear! Dolly was the sweetest and merriest and funniest being alive. She played such jolly tunes, she sang like a bird, and whistled like a bobolink, could play checkers and chess and fox and geese, and she brought Jim a backgammon board.
They talked a good deal about building a house way up-town. Mr. Beekman had offered Dolly a lot. John said it was going to be the finest part of the city. Stephen couldn't really afford to build, but they would like to begin in their own home. Property was getting so high down-town that young people like them, just beginning life, must look around and consider.