“Mademoiselle is not pleased?” questioned the French woman.
“It—it—is lovely,” faltered the little girl.
“We haf selected zem ourselves.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Didn’t mamma—buy anything—or papa—or Santa?”
“Zey tell us to get vatever you vould like and nevair mind ze money.”
“It was so good of you, I am sure,” said Ethel struggling valiantly against disappointment almost too great to bear. “Everything is beautiful but—I—wish mamma or papa had—I wish they were here—I’d like them to wish me a Merry Christmas.”
The little lip trembled but the upper teeth came down on it firmly. The child had courage. William looked at Celeste and Celeste shrugged her shoulders, both knowing what was lacking.
“I am sure, Miss, that they do wish you a Merry Christmas, an’”—the butler began bravely, but the situation was too much for him. “There goes the master’s bell,” he said quickly and turned and stalked out of the room gravely, although no bell had summoned him.