"This is the child I was telling thee of, Bessy Wardour's little one that she had to leave with such regrets. This is a relative of thy mother's, Primrose, and this is Anabella. I hope you two children may be friends."
There was a certain curious suavity in Madam Wetherill's tone that was not quite like her every-day utterances.
"A Wardour—yes; was there not something about her marriage——"
"She became a Friend for love's sake," laughed Madam Wetherill. "Others stood ready to marry her, but she would have none of them—girls are willful."
The lady rose with a high dignity.
"It grows late," she said, "and if you will keep your promise, dear aunt, I should like to be sent home, since it is not well for children to be out in the evening dews. And I hope the little girls may indeed be friends."
"Yes, I will order the chaise."
Others had risen. Mrs. Pemberton and her daughter, and two or three more, had been bidden to supper. Some of the ladies had come on horseback, the ordinary mode of traveling. They clustered about Madam Wetherill and praised her cake and said how glad they would be to get her in the city again. Then they pinned up their pretty skirts and put on their safeguard petticoats and were mounted by Cato and went off, nodding. The chaise took in two other ladies.
The little girls had simply eyed each other curiously, but neither made any advance, and parted formally.
Then Patty came and took Primrose upstairs and gave her a supper of bread and milk and a dish of cut peaches and cream. Afterward she undressed her and put her in one of the cots, bidding her go to sleep at once. She was needed elsewhere.