“But we have one Ruth. Ben chose that,” objected Betty half jealously.
“Never mind. We can have two of the same name,” insisted Elsa spiritedly, although her face coloured sensitively from having all eyes turned upon her.
“None of the Convalescent children will have two paper dolls,” said peaceable Alice.
“I’d like to have all the dolls named Ruth,” Ben said gallantly.
As Ben did not mind Elsa’s having chosen the same name that he had, Betty did not make any further objection.
“Please, Miss Ruth, ma’am, Mrs. Danforth to see you,” Sarah Judd announced at the library door. “She said she wanted to come right in here.”
The children, not quite realizing, in the half dusk of the afternoon light, that Mrs. Danforth was close behind Sarah, did not rise until Miss Ruth stepped back from the doorway with her visitor. Accordingly, Mrs. Danforth had a momentary glimpse of them on the hearth-rug,—Betty curled up on a cushion, Elsa leaning in her old position against the brass fire-stand, Alice and Ben seated side by side upon a large, low, old-fashioned ottoman in the centre of the rug. The ruddy flames lighted up their faces vividly.
A moment later, the children were standing,—all except little Alice, one of whose feet had gone to sleep so that she had to kneel upon the ottoman.
Sarah Judd, unnoticed, looked on from the shadow of the doorway at the tall, stately woman in rich sable furs and heavy silk cloak.
“I took the liberty of asking your maid to allow me to come where the children were,” Mrs. Danforth said in a beautiful but cold voice. “I wanted to see the Club that Elsa talks about so much.”