The bright, expectant look faded suddenly from the sparkling black eyes. All the animation fled swiftly from the girlish countenance. Two large tears rolled down Henrietta's cheeks.
"Oh," she mourned, "I was so lonely for a real, dear little baby."
"Dear me," sighed penitent Jean, "we thought you'd enjoy the joke. We saw at once that you supposed that Rosa Marie was an ordinary child—a nice little pink and white creature in long clothes. It seemed such a good chance to get even that we——"
"It was my fault," apologized Marjory. "I tried to fool you. I never thought you'd care."
"I'm sorry," said offended Mabel, stiffly, "that you don't like Rosa Marie. She's much more interesting than a common baby, and I think, when I picked her out——"
"It isn't that," said Henrietta, smiling through her tears. "You see, I had a baby cousin in England that I just hated to leave—Oh, the sweetest, daintiest little-girl baby—and she'll be all grown up and gone before I ever see her again. I simply adored that baby."
"Never mind," soothed Bettie, generously. "We've any number of real babies at our house and three of them are small enough to cuddle. And even the littlest one is big enough to be played with."
"What an accommodating family," said Henrietta, wiping her eyes. "I guess they'll make up for this remarkable infant."
"Rosa Marie certainly isn't looking her best to-day," admitted Jean, "but you'll really find her very interesting when you know her better. But she never does appeal to strangers—we've found that out."