Barbara, planted squarely in Clare's path, again importuned. "Am I going too, Aunt Clare?"
"No! Sit down! And keep quiet!"
The child obeyed. There was comfort in Lolly-Poppins. She lifted the doll to her breast, mothering it.
"What's happened, pettie?" inquired Tottie.
"Nothing—nothing." Clare folded a garment.
"Nothin'—but you're movin' to Jersey City.—Ha!"
"Well, most of my singing is across the River now, so it's more convenient."
"Mm!"—it implied satisfaction. Then carelessly, "Say, here's a letter for you." And as Clare took it, tearing it open, "Glad nothin' 's gone wrong.—Is that good news?"
Clare thrust the letter into her dress. "Oh, just another singing engagement," she answered. And went back to the heap of muslin on the sewing-machine.
Tottie's face reddened beyond the circumference of her rouge spots.
She took a long step in Clare's direction, and laid a hand on her arm.
"Now, look here!" she said threateningly. "You're lyin' about this
move!"