More rustling of skirts; then,
"Oh, Cousin Dorel—"
"Yes?" from the foot of the stairs.
"It doesn't matter—what we spoke about, you know, unless perfectly convenient."
"Oh, but it will be convenient, perfectly. Good-night. Sleep well."
"You too. Pleasant dreams. Good-night."
"Good-night."
The rustling drew nearer, and Mrs. Darling stood in the doorway, looking with a sort of absent-minded astonishment at the assemblage in her room.
The violets were quite dead on her white bosom; her hair was beginning to come loose, and stood out in golden wisps about her flushed face. She looked very sweet and soft and shiny-eyed and pleasant altogether.
"What is it?" she asked; and as Jetty was evoluting and clamoring about her feet she picked him up and kissed him like a mother. "Has anything happened? What is everybody doing up here? Whose little girl is this sitting up so late? They used to tell me I should never grow, my dear, if I sat up so late—"