She paused, but Mrs. Keith was not in a mood to guess at a child's requirements; so there was absolute silence for a moment or two.
"Quite a baby would do," Harebell went on insinuatingly, with her head on one side; "before its eyes were open, and that would make it cheaper."
"I don't know what you are talking about," said her aunt sharply; "but I must insist upon your talking straightforwardly, and not beating about the bush. It is a most objectionable practice."
"It's a puppy."
Harebell's tone was desperate; then she added hastily:
"I had to leave all my pets behind. I had a white kid, and a kitten, and three dogs and a puppy, and my pony, and you see they all knew me, and we always talked together. I feel like—you read at prayers this morning—'Rachael weeping for her children, and not being comforted.' I'm simply thirsting for a puppy."
"I never have any animals about the house," was the stern response.
"But—"
"Do not argue. Be silent. Finish your breakfast."
For a moment, Harebell looked as if she meditated a rush from the room. Her cheeks got scarlet, and she stamped with her foot under the table.