“Please send Phoebe in with the nurse to see the matinée to-day.”
The invitation was explicit enough. He was not wanted.
If he had a secret inclination to ignore the command altogether, it was frustrated by his own short-sightedness. He gulped, and then read the despatch aloud for the benefit of the maid. When it was too late he wished he had not done so.
Annie beamed. “Oh, sir, I’ve always wanted to see Miss Duluth act. I will take good care of Phoebe.”
He considered it beneath his dignity to invite her into a conspiracy against the child, so he gloomily announced that he would go in with them on the one-o’clock train and stay to bring them out. 133
The Christmas tree was a great success. Phoebe was in raptures. He quite forgot his own disappointment in watching her joyous antics. As the distributor of the presents that hung on the gaily trimmed and dazzling cedar, he came at last to the little package from Butler. It contained a beautiful gold chain, at the end of which hung suspended a small diamond-studded slipper—blue enamel, fairly covered with rose diamonds.
Phoebe screamed with delight. Her father’s face was a study.
“Why, they are diamonds!” he murmured. “Surely Butler wouldn’t be giving presents like this.” A card fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and read:—“A slipper for my little Cinderella. Keep it and it will bring good luck.”
There was no name, but he knew who had sent it. With a cry of rage he snatched the dainty trinket from her hand and threw it on the floor, raising his foot to stamp it out of shape with his heel. His first vicious attempt missed the slipper altogether, and before he could repeat it the child was on the floor clutching it in her fingers, whimpering 134 strangely. The servants looked on in astonishment.
He drew back, mumbling something under his breath. In a moment he regained control of himself.