Hours afterwards they would come again together and stoop over the cot and she wouldn’t see them; they would kiss her with soft, light kisses, and she wouldn’t know.
She thought: To-night I’ll stay awake and see them. But she never did. Only once she dreamed that she heard footsteps and saw the lighted candle, going out of the room; going, going away.
The blue egg stood on the marble top of the cabinet where you could see it from everywhere; it was supported by a gold waistband, by gold hoops and gold legs, and it wore a gold ball with a frill round it like a crown. You would never have guessed what was inside it. You touched a spring in its waistband and it flew open, and then it was a workbox. Gold scissors and thimble and stiletto sitting up in holes cut in white velvet.
The blue egg was the first thing she thought of when she came into the room. There was nothing like that in Connie Hancock’s Papa’s house. It belonged to Mamma.
Harriett thought: If only she could have a birthday and wake up and find that the blue egg belonged to her——
Ida, the wax doll, sat on the drawing-room sofa, dressed ready for the birthday. The darling had real person’s eyes made of glass, and real eyelashes and hair. Little finger and toenails were marked in the wax, and she smelt of the lavender her clothes were laid in.
But Emily, the new birthday doll, smelt of composition and of gum and hay; she had flat, painted hair and eyes, and a foolish look on her face, like Nurse’s aunt, Mrs. Spinker, when she said “Lawk-a-daisy!” Although Papa had given her Emily, she could never feel for her the real, loving love she felt for Ida.
And her mother had told her that she must lend Ida to Connie Hancock if Connie wanted her.
Mamma couldn’t see that such a thing was not possible.
“My darling, you mustn’t be selfish. You must do what your little guest wants.”