"Sit down, won't you? I'm glad you came."
Marjorie sat down, on the edge of a couch, and Delight sank back in her big chair.
She was so evidently overcome with a spasm of shyness that Midget was sorry for her, but somehow it made her feel shy, herself, and the two little girls sat there, looking at each other, without saying a word.
At last, overcoming her embarrassment, Marjorie said, "Was it you who telephoned?" A sudden wave of red flooded Delight's pale cheeks, and she answered:
"Yes, it was. I have a cold, and can't go out of my room,—and mother is out,—and—and I was awfully lonesome, so I played I was Cinderella. And then I just happened to think I'd telephone you—just for fun—"
"Have you a stepmother? Is she cruel to you?"
"Mercy, no! Mother is the dearest thing in the world, and she adores me,—spoils me, in fact. She's gone out now to get me some things to make valentines with. But I wish she was here. I thought it would be fun to see,—to see you alone,—but you're so different from what I thought you were."
"Different, how?" said Midget, forgetting her own shyness in her interest in this strange girl.
"Why, you're so—so big, and rosy,—and your eyes snap so."
"You're afraid of me!" exclaimed Midget, laughing merrily.