Eloise gave a most unsympathetic laugh. “More than he wishes he had, I fancy,” she returned.
She came finally in her white negligee into her mother's room. Mrs. Evringham was still in bed. Her eyeglasses were on and she regarded her daughter critically as she came in sight. She had begun to look upon her as mistress of the fine old Ballard place on Mountain Avenue, and the setting was very much to her mind. The girl sauntered over to the window, and taking a low seat, leaned her head against the woodwork, embowered in the lace curtains.
“How it does come down!” said Mrs. Evringham fretfully. “And I lack just a little of that lace braid, or I could finish your yoke. I suppose Forbes would think it was a dreadful thing if I asked her to let Zeke get it for me.”
“Don't ask anything,” returned Eloise.
“When you are in your own home!” sighed Mrs. Evringham.
“Don't, mother. It's indecent!”
“If you would only reassure me, my child, so I wouldn't have to undergo such moments of anxiety as I do.”
“Oh, you have no mercy!” exclaimed the girl; and when she used that tone her mother usually became tearful. She did now.
“You act as if you weren't a perfect treasure, Eloise—as if I didn't consider you a treasure for a prince of the realm!”
A knock at the door heralded Sarah's arrival for the tray, and Mrs. Evringham hastily wiped her eyes.