Within a few days the little girl, who on the occasion of the ward’s anniversary had been afraid to speak to her beautiful benefactor, found herself established in the stately old house on Edgewood Avenue, and calling the same charming lady “mother.”
On the morning that Mrs. Jocelyn’s man drove her across the city to the private school which Polly and David attended, she was almost too joyfully excited for comfort. To think that one of her most cherished dreams was actually coming true!
Polly introduced her as, “My friend, Leonora Jocelyn,” which made the little dark face pink with pleasure, and nearly caught away the remnant of her self-possession.
The girls and boys received her with polite attention or gushing cordiality, and she was beginning to calm into something like sober happiness when Ilga Barron appeared.
Ilga was short and plumpy, with pincushion legs, and feet that were trained to dancing. The skirt of her dress was as brief as compatible with fashion, and she swung it with a superior air which abashed the meeker of her schoolmates. She greeted the new pupil with a nod and a stare.
“What’s your father’s business?” was her abrupt inquiry.
“I haven’t any father,” Leonora answered gently.
“Oh! Where do you live?”
“On Edgewood Avenue.”
“Up opposite Edgewood Park?”