The maid, on the swift wings of excitement, flew upstairs. There was the quick patter of eager little feet, and in a very few moments the door was pushed open and a boy and girl entered. Charlotte recognized them at a glance. They were the very handsome little pair whose acquaintance she had made yesterday in Regent's Park. The girl hung back a trifle shyly, but the boy, just saying to his sister, "The pretty lady," came up, and raised his lips for a kiss.
"You don't think me rude?" he said; "you don't mind kissing me, do you."
"I love to kiss you; I am your own cousin," said Charlotte.
"My own cousin! Then I may sit on your knee. Daisy, come here—the pretty lady is our own cousin."
On hearing this, Daisy too advanced. Neither child had any idea what the word cousin meant, but it seemed to include proprietorship. They stroked Charlotte's furs, and both pairs of lips were raised again and again for many kisses. In the midst of this scene entered the little maid with the baby. Pretty as Daisy and Harold were, they were nothing to the baby; this baby of eight months had a most ethereal and lovely face.
"Oh, you beauty! you darling!" said Charlotte, as she clasped the little creature in her arms, and the baby, too young to be shy, allowed her to kiss him repeatedly.
"What a lot of lumber!" said Daisy, touching the brown-paper parcels.
This little child's speech brought Charlotte back to the fact of her cakes and toys. Giving baby to his small nurse, she opened her treasures. Daisy received her doll with a kind of awed rapture, Harold rattled his drum and blew his trumpet in a way most distracting to any weak nerves within reasonable distance, and the baby sucked some rather unwholesome sweets. No child thought of thanking their benefactor, but flushed cheeks, bright eyes, eager little voices, were thanks louder and more eloquent than words.
"I want to see your mother; when will she be in?" asked Charlotte, after a little quiet had been restored.
"Not all day," answered Harold. "Mother has gone with father to nurse a poor sick lady; she won't be back till quite night."