"Ye-es," said Marjory, as if considering the question. "She's darker, at least, than I am."
"We all are," said Henrietta, with an admiring glance at Marjory's golden locks. "We seem to shade down gradually. Mabel comes next, then Jean, then Bettie; I'm the darkest, because Bettie's eyes are like brown velvet, but mine are black, like bits of hard coal. Where does Rosa Marie come in?"
"I think," said Marjory, with an air of pondering deeply, "that Rosa Marie is almost, if not quite, as dark as you; even darker, perhaps. But her hair isn't as curly."
"Dear little soul," breathed Henrietta, tenderly. "I've a tremendous liking for babies, but they're pretty scarce at our house. But there was one in England that was—Oh, if I could just see that English baby now! Wouldn't I just hug her!"
Henrietta's eyes were unwontedly tender, her expression unusually sweet.
"You're not a bit like you've been any of the other times," observed Bettie. "I like you a lot better when you're like this."
"I'm not myself to-day," twinkled Henrietta. "I'm Sallie—just plain Sallie. But beware of me when I'm Frederika, the Disguised Duchess. That's when I'm not to be trusted."
"I think," said Jean, listening to some faraway sound, "that lunch is about ready."
"Good!" exclaimed Henrietta. "The sooner it's over, the sooner I can hug that darling baby. It's months since I've held one in my arms—the dear little body."
"You'll find——" began Mabel; but the other three promptly headed her off before she had time to explain that Rosa Marie was a pretty big armful.