“Dulcie and Daisy,” repeated Barbara; “why, I thought their names were Delia and Margaret.”
Maud looked blank, and Dulcie, blushing furiously, but still with a desperate attempt to keep up their assumed characters, hastened to explain.
“Dulcie and Daisy are our home names,” she said. “Daisy’s real name is Margaret.”
“And your real name is Delia, I suppose,” said Mrs. Thorne, smiling; “Delia Smith, I think you said.”
Dulcie was silent. She was a truthful child, and not even for the honor of the Winslow family could she bring herself to tell a deliberate lie. Mrs. Thorne seemed to understand, for she smiled again, and her voice was very kind.
“Barbara darling,” she said, “suppose you take Molly and Maud into the dining-room, and get them each a glass of milk. Maud says she is thirsty, and cake is hardly a substantial breakfast. Ask Jane to boil some eggs, and warm some oatmeal, and we will all come in a few minutes. Now, my dear little girls,” she added in a graver tone, when the three younger children had left the room, “I want you to tell me your real names, and where you live. I must let your family know where you are as soon as possible. They are probably frightened to death about you already.”
Dulcie clasped her hands in despair, as she saw the last hope of carrying out her wonderful plan of independence fading from her grasp. But there was an air of gentle determination about Mrs. Thorne that convinced her of the uselessness of a refusal. She answered meekly:
“My name is Dulcie Winslow and my sister is really Margaret, but every one calls her Daisy. We live at Tarrytown with our grandmother, and——”
“You don’t mean to tell me you are old Dr. Winslow’s grandchildren!” interrupted Mrs. Thorne, in a tone of genuine astonishment.
Dulcie nodded, and Daisy asked timidly: