Their nurse's voice was heard calling Maisie to come up and be dressed. Hilda, with a guilty, conscience-stricken look, had barely time to throw the useless "cracking thing" out of the open window, and to hide the rest of the cracker in the first thing at hand (which happened to be the doll's house), when they both entered laughing and carried her off too, to be curled and be-ribboned for the party.
"I've seen my birthday cake, Hilda," cried Maisie, capering about. "It's booful!" But Hilda still tasted that nauseous liqueur from the sweet, and couldn't enter into any pleasing ideas of cake.
Ready first, she ran into the nursery, curious as ever as to the pink and green paper bundle, took it out, unfolded it, and found that it would have formed a crown—only it didn't join together; she had torn it in her hurry. She stamped her foot with vexation, and was wondering if she could stick the two ends together when that tiresome Maisie came running in from the next room with one of her new bronze shoes on to show how beautiful it looked. Quick as lightning Hilda had to hide her secret again.
"What are you doing with the doll's house? Look at my new shoe!" exclaimed Maisie all in a breath.
And Hilda made a great fuss over the new shoe, and felt horridly out of temper.
Punctually on the stroke of three, the first of the birthday party began to arrive—two little girl cousins, who at once begged to be allowed to see if there was anything new in the doll's house. Hilda's heart sank at these words, and she tried to draw their attention away, but to no avail, for Maisie, moving towards it, said they must see the new treasure there. With difficulty and something like a scuffle Hilda, grown desperate, prevented her from opening it, and managed to do so herself, quickly stuffing the bunch of paper into her pocket without being noticed. Much admiration was bestowed on the new addition—a little motor car which had been conveniently placed in the kitchen of the doll's house ready to take out for an airing the little china lady and gentleman who sat so rigidly and smiled so vacantly in the storey above.
Meanwhile, Hilda was inwardly owning to a feeling akin to dislike for the very thought of that cracker, for the paper was bulging out her pocket, flatten it as she would. She was not happy, for never before had she done anything underhand. In fact she always tried to be an example for her young sister, and she already regretted having given way to the momentary impulse of envy. However, there was no time now for thoughts or remorse, and when she reached the drawing-room she forgot all about her trouble in helping to receive the guests.
Eight little girls were grouped in one corner of the room whispering, with eyes busily engaged staring at one another's sashes; whilst eight little boys had flocked together and were looking sheepishly from out of an opposite corner. One boy, however—who had been gazing long at Hilda—with heroic resolution detached himself from his kind, and entered the rival camp, where he was welcomed with pleasure and interest. He was a young Highlander, with sandy hair and many freckles, but his attraction was great, for he wore his native costume. The jewelled hilt of a dagger showed above one plaid stocking, and on his shoulder he wore a fascinating brooch with a large brown stone, which was the envy and admiration of all the little ladies present.
Suddenly the guests were all swooped upon by a big lady, Maisie's mother, mixed up, and disentangled into couples; a piano was set going, and they danced, hopped, and twirled about, wondering if they liked it; the girls thought they did, and the boys were sure they didn't—all except the Scotch boy, who had constituted himself Hilda's devoted partner, and was enjoying it immensely. The polka finished, these two sat chatting merrily at the window, when all at once Hilda became silent. She happened to catch sight of something sticking out of the ivy on the sill. It was the "cracking thing" which she had thrown from the window above. Her partner was surprised to see her look as though she were going to cry. She didn't dare do that.
Just then tea was announced. Weighty recollection of warnings from home-counsellors came to the minds of the children, which warnings, however, conveniently faded away at sight of the good things set forth so temptingly in the dining-room: custards, jellies, and all those concoctions beloved of the youthful interior. But the chief interest centred in Maisie's gorgeous cake, which had her name and age flowingly written in coloured sugar, surrounded by the most realistic and sweetest of red roses imaginable, nestling in the coolest-looking golden leaves.