"Well, this—for, oh, she must have the best welcome that we can give her, the darling!—this——"
"All cooked up for Mr. Farvel's benefit, I suppose," interjected Mrs.
Balcome.
"Of course. Who cares anything about the child!" Sue laughed.
"Oh, your mother has told me of your aspirations,"—this with scornful significance.
"Mm!—This is socks—oh, such cunning socks—with little turnover cuffs on 'em!" Sue's good-humor was unshaken. "And this is sash ribbon. And this is roller skates." She lifted one package after the other. "And a game. And a white rabbit. And a woolly sheep—it winds up!" She gave it to Hattie. "And a hat—with roses on it! And rompers—I do hope she's not too big for rompers! These are blue, with a white collar. And 'Don Quixote'—fine pictures—it'll keep. And look!"—it was a train of cars. "Isn't it a darling? I could play with it myself! Just observe that smokestack! And—well, she can give it to her first beau. And, behold, a lizard! Its picture is on the box!" She waved it. "Made in the U. S. A.!"
Mrs. Balcome had been watching with an expression not so irritable as it was wearied. "You are pathetic!" she said finally. "Simply pathetic!"
"Look!" invited Sue, holding up a duck. "It quacks!"
But Mrs. Balcome had turned on Hattie, and caught the sheep from her hand. "You!" she scolded; "—for the child of that—that——"
Hattie held up a warning finger. "Don't criticize the lady before
Wallace," she cautioned.
Slowly Wallace straightened, and came about. "Well," he said quietly,
"I guess that's the end of it." He went to Sue, holding out a hand.
"Sue, I'm going——"