"Christmas and New Year's festivities at the Schloss, Berlin," she read aloud. Then higher up: "Fraulein Bertha Krupp."
"Oh, Mamma!" she cried, "we are not invited, you and I. Isn't that mean of Uncle Majesty?" She stamped her foot. "But he shan't kiss me when he comes again—see if I let him kiss me."
"Hold your tongue, naughty child."
Bertha spoke with an air of unwonted authority. She folded up her letter.
"Just see how high and mighty we are!" mimicked Barbara. "'Naughty child,' and what are you? I shouldn't wonder if Uncle Majesty spanked you sometimes, when you are alone with him; you always come away full of humility to him and of arro—arro—" (she couldn't find the word) "the other thing to us—to Mamma and me, I mean."
The Baroness put out her arm as if she expected the children to resort to fisticuffs. "Barbara," she called half pleadingly.
"She will go to her room," insisted Bertha, ringing. The butler responded so promptly that there was no doubt he had been listening behind the portières.
"Fraulein Barbara's governess," Bertha ordered. And as the man was going out: "My secretary shall report at once in my council room."
"Are you mad?" cried Frau Krupp, when the curtains had dropped behind the servant. Bertha seemed so unlike herself—unlike what her child ought to be.
The Krupp heiress disdained to answer.