Now Suzanna had not told her mother of her new friend. She had wished to keep in character, and a princess, she felt, was rather secretive and aloof. But now the renewed closeness she felt to her mother opened her heart.
"Yesterday when I was a princess, living my very own first tucked-in day, I walked and walked, and at last came to a little house with a garden," she said, "and there was an old lady with no one to call her by her first name—and so I'm going to call her Drusilla."
"Is she a little old lady with white hair, and curls on each side of her face?" asked Mrs. Procter.
"Yes," said Suzanna.
"Why, she's Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett's mother, and she's a little—" Mrs. Procter hesitated believing it wiser to leave her sentence unfinished.
"A little what, mother?" asked Suzanna anxiously.
"Oh, she has fancies," evaded Mrs. Procter. "For instance, there are times when she thinks herself a queen."
"What was the word you were going to use, mother?" persisted Suzanna.
"Well, then, Suzanna, such a person is called a little strange."
"Then I'm a little strange, too," said Suzanna.