“So she was brave enough to go out of the house alone at night, and she kept the loss of the doll from me for fear it would hurt my feelings,” said Mrs. Danforth half to herself, toying with a silver paper-cutter the while. “Of course I did not know that the child cared anything about the doll.”
“That is what Elsa said,” returned Ruth Warren, quite eagerly now. Then she went on in a lower tone: “Elsa seems to me a keenly sensitive, thoughtful and affectionate-natured little girl, but very much repressed. As I have observed her—her shyness and her pale face—I cannot help thinking that what she needs more than anything else is to have some love shown her, and to feel free to show her own affection.” Ruth Warren rose to go, feeling that perhaps she had said too much.
“Wait a moment,” said Mrs. Danforth, not unkindly. “You mean to tell me that I am too severe with the child?” She remembered, with an uncomfortable feeling, that Mrs. White had said much the same thing.
“Not too severe in the matter of discipline, but—” Ruth Warren left the sentence unfinished.
“On the whole, I thank you, Miss Warren,” said Mrs. Danforth slowly. “I am sure you have Elsa’s best interest at heart. I am grateful to you for taking charge of the little Club. It has made me feel safe in regard to her. Do you think that the Holt children are perfectly suitable companions for Elsa, in every way?” she asked suddenly.
“They are perfectly suitable companions for any children, I am sure,” Ruth Warren said warmly. “They are charming little children, well-trained and gentle-mannered. The boy is mischievous, but he is perhaps all the more likeable for his liveliness, and he is very manly with his mother and his little sister. I have seen the mother several times, and I have never met a more attractive or charming woman,—or a braver woman.”
A quick flush reddened Mrs. Danforth’s face, then died away as suddenly as it came. Reaching out a trembling hand, she rang for her maid, who appeared as if she had risen out of the blue velvet carpeted floor.
“Cummings, some water,” said Mrs. Danforth, with an evident effort. Then she leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes.
Ruth Warren had started to leave the room, but fearing lest Mrs. Danforth should faint, she stood waiting for Cummings to return.
As she waited, she noticed, half unconsciously at first, then with a quick start of interest, an oil-painting hanging upon the softly tinted wall, back of Mrs. Danforth’s chair,—an oil-painting of a large, gable-windowed house, exactly like the one at Mrs. Holt’s. Ruth Warren remembered it particularly because of one small red-leaved maple tree at the left-hand corner of the picture; and she also remembered Elsa’s exclamation over Mrs. Holt’s picture. She looked again at Mrs. Danforth’s white, set face, and a haunting resemblance flashed through her mind, leaving her fairly bewildered.