“Won’t you sit down, Mary?” asked Mrs. Ferris in a moment, politely indicating a chair. Lina drew it nearer for Betty, who sat down. “How is your mother, Mary?” continued Mrs. Ferris. “I intended to get over to see her yesterday, but the weather was so bad. I don’t like the winter weather.”
Betty saw that Mrs. Ferris expected no answer, but she leaned toward her with a respectful and sympathetic expression on her face. Lina stood quietly by. Then Bessie entered, her arms filled with a large pasteboard box, and Lucia was only a moment or two behind Bessie.
“Here are the things, Mrs. Ferris,” said Bessie, depositing the box on a straight chair that she drew up for the purpose. “Wait, Bessie,” said the maid, “I’ll put up the folding table.”
This was done as Lucia exchanged the one doll for the other, Mrs. Ferris evidently approving the change. The second doll was a baby doll, almost as large as a real baby and with soft golden hair like Betty’s.
“This is the prettier doll,” said Mrs. Ferris quite sensibly. “What made you bring those clothes here, Bessie? Oh, yes. I told you to.” Again Mrs. Ferris looked puled. She considered the doll. “This looks like Willie. I believe it is Willie. Poor little thing, with those cheap clothes on! How did that happen, Bessie?”
In a low tone Lucia spoke to Lina. “I’ll leave this doll with Grandmother. Perhaps it will amuse her; shall we go?”
“Slip away without saying anything,” Bessie whispered, edging around by Lucia. “She will not remember. She is bad today, you see.”
It was a great relief to Betty when Lucia drew her toward the door and out. “Oh, Lucia!” she said as they passed down the stairway, “I am so sorry for her! It was so pitiful!”
“Wasn’t it! I never saw her like that. Usually she is just a little queer, but her mind was all mixed up today. It just about breaks Uncle’s heart to see her, even. She was awfully good to him and made her will leaving everything to Laura and to him, even in case of her daughter’s death. So that is one reason that he wants her to be in her own apartment as long as possible. He can engage people to take care of her, even if she should be difficult to manage and then he knows how she is being treated, you see. Mother has an oversight now, too; but that and some other things are nearly wearing Mother’s nerves to pieces. That is why she has so much company and goes so much, though of course, all her old friends want to see her, too.”
From the sad scene of the third floor Betty was soon transported to the large dining room of the Murchison home, where the Countess Coletti and a few friends, with Mr. Murchison, the head of the house, sat about a beautifully appointed table with its silver, cut glass and china, its flowers and fragrance. There was cheerful, even clever conversation into which Betty was drawn a little at first, as the older guests politely took an interest in the two girls. But Lucia and Betty, side by side, carried on a low conversation, as they found it proper, or listened with interest to that of their elders. Betty was impressed with the grace and social poise of the countess, but did not care very much for a handsome blonde who sat at Mr. Murchison’s right and whom Lucia said was “trying to marry Uncle,” though that remark had been made before the party went into the dining room. Relieved from much necessity of talking to any one, Betty had plenty of opportunity to study the people about the table, from whose voices and conversation she could gather not a little about their personalities. She could also thoroughly enjoy the excellent dinner, served in attractive courses.