"Why, Lena," said Dorothy, "nothing has been broken—so, of course, you cannot be blamed."
"Oh!" cried Lena, desperately, "der mistress's red-cheeks bottle is broked, und I don't do it!"
"Lena!" ejaculated Mrs. Lawton, "leave the room!"
"I show first, den I leave der rooms!" said Lena, tearfully. "See you here, my Miss Ladies," said she, opening her hand. "I find him in der slops-jar—but, I don't neffer break der lady's cheeks-bottle—neffer!—no!"
There, on the wet palm, lay the half of a tiny bottle, whose contents had been red, and on its front still clung the legend "Rouge-Vinaigre." The girls' eyes sank, their faces flushed red all over. This explained the unusual paleness of their mother, the sudden necessity for visiting the city, and the spoiling of their day. A painful silence, broken only by Lena's snuffle, held them for a moment; then Mr. Lawton spoke, almost sternly: "You may go, Lena—I know all about who broke the toilet bottle. Give me my coffee, Letitia."
And then Sybil gave unconscious proof of an ability to act. For, conquering her shamed surprise at learning that her mother painted, she raised calm eyes, and said, in a perfectly matter-of-course way: "Oh, mamma, it's a shame not to feel more sorry for your accident, but I was always a selfish little wretch, and I know right where that lovely store is where all the imported toilet articles are on sale—and oh, dear mamma! if you will only trust me to get your 'vinaigre de toilette' I shall have a chance of seeing all those exquisite shell ornaments, and the Rhinestone hair-pins, and the newest models for hair dressing. Indeed, Dorrie and I might pick up some very useful ideas there."
Mrs. Lawton hesitated. Sybil's manner of accepting the mortifying discovery as a mere matter of course was certainly comforting, but she "did not think it proper," she said, "for young girls to go into a store and buy r—r—that is, vinaigre de toilette."
"But," urged Sybil, who knew her mother, enjoying perfect health, dearly loved to be treated as an invalid, "the day is going to be a warm one, and the first heat is very trying to one inclined to be delicate."
Mrs. Lawton sighed, and unconsciously drooped a little. Sybil continued: "And bonnet and gloves and corset and walking-boots and all the harness a well-dressed woman has to carry are so fatiguing. And the car-ride after the shopping—you will be used up, mamma!"
And in a burst of self-pity mamma concluded she would best serve the family by conserving her own poor strength. And Dorrie, meantime, under cover of following the flight of an oriole past the window, had dried the shamed tears from her eyes, and her father, cup in hand, discoursing upon the superiority of the Baltimore over the orchard oriole, had screened her from the other two, and had left a pitying kiss on the crown of her bonnie head. And so at last they started for what Sybil called their day of "ninety-nine-and-a-half-cent" shopping.