“Let the little girl come, mother,” pleaded Mildred, clambering on to her mother’s knee.
She had been sitting with her head bent over her doll, and her hair falling forward over her face like golden rain, for the last ten minutes. Mrs. Fausset had no suspicion that the child had been listening, and this sudden appeal was startling to the last degree.
“Wisdom has spoken from my darling’s rosy lips,” said Fausset, coming over to the window and stooping to kiss his child.
“My dear John, you must know that your wish is a law to me,” replied his wife, submitting all at once to the inevitable. “If you are really bent upon having your ward here she must come.”
“I am really bent upon it.”
“Then let her come as soon as you like.”
“I will bring her to-morrow.”
“And I shall have some one to play with,” said Mildred, in her baby voice; “I shall give her my second best doll.”
“Not your best, Mildred?” asked the father, smiling at her.
Mildred reflected for a few moments.