Tibbie made a bound for the door, but at a step's distance was overcome by a curious timidity, and instead of bolting in, pulled the door towards her tremulously, and pushed aside the lace hanging with a cold hand.
There lay the hundred, all on a couch under the gas-light, arranged as in a show-window, propped by means of silk cushions so as to form a solid sloping bank—the hundred beautiful dolls.
"Well, ma'am?" asked Sally, expectantly.
Tibbie said nothing, but looked at them vaguely, full of constraint.
"Well, I never!" said Sally. "Don't you like 'em? What on earth did you expect, child? Well, I never! Well, if it don't beat all! Why, when I was a young one—Why, Tibbie girl—don't you think they are lovely?"
"Yes," she whispered, moving her head slowly up and down, then letting it hang.
"Aw, come out of that," said Sally, understanding. "Come, let's look at 'em one by one, taking all our time. Come to Sally, darling, and don't feel bad. We'll have lots of fun."
She took the not unwilling Tibbie by the hand, and led her nearer the banked splendor.
The dolls were all of a size, and, undressed, would with difficulty have been told apart, except, perhaps, by their little mothers. All were very blond and wide-eyed and bow-lipped; all, though dressed like little ladies, had the chubby hands of infants; and their boots were painted trimly on with black, and their garters with blue. But how to render the coquettish fashionableness with which these wax-complexioned darlings were tricked out! all equally in silks and satins and velvets and lace, so that there could be no jealousies; all with hats of like beauty and stylishness.
Sally seated herself on the floor beside the low couch, and pulled Tibbie down into her lap, who drew up Jetty into hers. Tibbie had recovered the power to speak, but was still unduly sober and husky.