“I know you did,” she said, slowly, “but Ada told me to stay up and make the chocolate. I did go to sleep on the sofa after Dora went to bed, but I set the alarm-clock for half-past eleven, so as to be sure to wake in time. I’m sorry if it was wrong, Mrs. Marsh, but it’s very hard to know which I ought to mind, you or Ada.”
Gretel had no intention of being impertinent; she was merely stating a puzzling fact, which she frequently found very troublesome. But Mrs. Marsh reddened angrily.
“That is not the proper way for a little girl to speak,” she began, but her daughter cut her short.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t begin a lecture at this time of night, Mamma. We are all much too tired to argue. Come with me, Gretel.”
And Mrs. Marsh, who was a weak woman, and who was, moreover, considerably afraid of her tall, domineering daughter, made no further objections, but retired in silence to her own room.
“How did you enjoy yourself all the evening?” Ada inquired, good-naturedly, as she sipped her chocolate, while Gretel brushed out her long hair. “I hope you weren’t lonely.”
“Oh, no,” said Gretel, cheerfully; “I had a very pleasant time. First I watched the people going into fairy—I mean the opera, and then Dora came and talked to me, and I played on the piano. Mrs. Marsh doesn’t mind my playing when she’s out. I ought to be very grateful to Mrs. Marsh, oughtn’t I?”
Ada laughed.
“You funny little thing,” she said; “I never heard a child ask such questions. I suppose you ought to be grateful to Mamma, but what made you think of it?”
“I—I don’t quite know,” faltered Gretel, blushing. “I was only wondering about something Dora said. Oughtn’t it to give people pleasure to be grateful?”