“I promised to take you driving, didn't I, Jewel? Well, the pleasant weather has come. I guess she'll go with me to-morrow, Ballard.”
“Guess again, Mr. Evringham,” retorted the doctor gayly. “She has accepted my invitation.”
Mrs. Evringham looked on and wondered. “What is it about that child that takes them all?” she soliloquized. “She reminds me of that dreadfully plain Madam what's-her-name, who was so fascinating to everybody at the French court.”
Eloise was smiling. “Now it's your turn, Jewel,” she said.
The child looked from one to another. “I never sang for anybody,” she returned doubtfully.
“Yes indeed, for Anna Belle. I've heard you,” said Eloise.
“Oh, she was singing with me.”
“Very well. Let her sing with you now.”
“What one?”
“The one I heard,—'Father, where Thine own children are I love to be.'”