With a short, ashamed laugh, Beryl picked it up. "That old thing," she exclaimed, in half-apology.
Robin caught her arm. "Wait—oh, wait—let me see it!"
"It's just an old doll I've kept."
"It—it looks like my Cynthia. Oh, please just let me look at it. It's like a doll—I lost, once, ever so long ago." She examined the pretty clothing.
Now Beryl stared at Robin as though to find in her face a likeness to the little girl who had deserted her doll.
"Lost? And I found it in Sheridan Square. A little girl went off and left it. I waited awhile, then I took the doll home."
"Oh, how funny! How funny! It was me, Beryl. I'd been playing and Mr. Tony called to me to hurry and I forgot—and you found it. Why, I cried myself to sleep night after night thinking poor Cynthia was unhappy somewhere."
"And I called her my orphan doll and loved her because I thought she missed her real mother—"
"She was the loveliest dolly I ever had!"
"She was the loveliest dolly I ever saw!"