“I’m trying to hurt you,” said Clotilde, showing her white glistening teeth.
“Let her be, Clo.”
“Shan’t. Mind your own business.”
“Let her be, I say,” cried Marie, flashing into excitement. “If you don’t loose her I’ll scratch you.”
“You daren’t,” cried Clotilde, and as her sister’s face turned red her own grew pale. “Go back to the door and listen, little fibster.”
“I dare,” said Marie, relapsing into her half-dreamy way. “Come here, Ruthy; I won’t have you hurt. It’s truth, isn’t it? We are beautiful?”
“Yes,” said Ruth, starting to her feet, and joyfully nestling in the arms held out for her, while Marie kissed her with some show of affection. “Yes, you are both beautiful, and Clotilde knows I would not tell her a story.”
The gratified look had spread by this time to the elder sisters face, and she returned to her position upon the table, where she sat swinging one leg to and fro.
“Go back and listen, Ruthy,” said Marie quietly. “You are quite right, dear—we are both handsome; and so are you.”
“I?” laughed Ruth, with a merry, innocent look brightening her face; “oh no!”