She had been in her aunt's rooms but seldom, though the magnificence of them charmed her. On the dressing-table were such beautiful shining things; the soft couch was piled high with wonderfully embroidered cushions, and the whole place was always redolent with some faint sweet odor. The costumes which Mrs. Mayfield wore, too, were such as Ruth thought fit for a queen. Once or twice she had seen her sweeping down the stairway in exquisite evening dress and she wondered what Nora Petty would say if she knew Ruth were living in the same house as such a fairylike being.
Although she gave a wondering admiration to all the beautiful things with which her Aunt Lillie surrounded herself, Ruth gave her aunt no affection, for she did not demand it. She treated the child with tolerance but that was all. Bertie occupied the only place which she had in her heart for children, and him she spoiled and petted till all natural good in his nature was smothered by indulgence.
Bertie did not forgot the doll in spite of the candy and the new toy with which his mother had provided him, and the very next day he climbed the stairs to the top floor bent on finding Hetty. It was sufficient for Bertie to be denied a thing for him to want it beyond anything else. He looked around the room. No doll was in sight, but on Ruth's washstand stood the little flowery mug, Billy's parting gift. Possessing himself of this, he went down to the nursery where Ruth was reciting her "J'ai, tu as, il a."
"I want Ruth's doll," he said to Mademoiselle.
"He can't have it," returned Ruth quickly.
Mademoiselle looked sharply at her. "Vy not, mees?"
"Because he only wants it to break up and I can't have her smashed all to pieces."
"I want to play wif her. Mayn't I play wif her?" whined Bertie.
"You may play wis har, of course. Go get zis doll, zis poupée but say first what is doll. It is poupée, poupée. Repeat."
"Poupée, poupée," repeated Ruth obediently.