"Where's mother?" was the next question asked.
"In the sitting-room opposite."
"I want to go to her."
"Wait a few minutes; she is lying on the sofa, and I want her to rest."
"Where's Belinda to sleep, and Nino?"
"Dear me," said Ingleby, impatiently, "I don't know; here's the cork come out of your mamma's eau-de-Cologne flask, and everything in the travelling basket is soaked. Dear, dear!"
Dorothy now began to snatch at the buttons of her travelling ulster, and threw off the scarf round her neck.
"Let me help you," said Irene. "I am quite ready."
Dorothy was not very gracious, and as Irene tugged at the sleeves of the ulster, a lock of the silky hair caught in a button, and Dorothy screamed—
"Oh, don't! you hurt me. Oh, Jingle!"