“Really, Ada, I am surprised at you. You might at least have let Mr. Pendleton think you enjoyed it.”
“I was bored to death, and I suppose I couldn’t help showing it,” returned her daughter, with a yawn. “I never pretended to care for music, and I don’t see why he didn’t take us to the theater. There are half a dozen plays I’m dying to see. I hope that child hasn’t gone to bed, and forgotten my chocolate.”
“Really, Ada,” remonstrated her mother, “you ought not to keep Gretel up so late. It isn’t good for her, and I expressly told her to go to bed early.”
“Nonsense; it doesn’t hurt her a bit. Besides, she loves it. All children adore sitting up after they are supposed to be in bed.”
Before Mrs. Marsh could say any more, a door at the back of the apartment opened, and a little figure appeared, carrying a cup of hot chocolate on a tray. Gretel’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were shining; she did not look in the least sleepy.
“It’s all ready,” she announced cheerfully. “I heard the man calling the carriages, so I knew ‘Lohengrin’ was finished, and I went and made it right away. It’s nice and hot.”
Ada gave a satisfied nod.
“Take it to my room,” she said; “you can stay and brush my hair while I drink it.”
“She must do no such thing,” objected Mrs. Marsh, who was looking both worried and annoyed. “Gretel, didn’t you hear me tell you to go to bed early?”
Gretel glanced from Mrs. Marsh to her daughter, and her grave little face was troubled.