“We thought it was,” said Dulcie, meekly. “How soon does the next train go?”
Mrs. Thorne left the room to consult a time-table, and Barbara began to express her entire disapproval of the whole affair.
“I don’t see why you can’t stay,” she protested; “there’s plenty of room. It would be so nice to have you stay all summer, and we could have such fun all together. Wouldn’t you like to stay?”
“It would be lovely,” said Dulcie, politely, “but your mother doesn’t think it would be right. She is afraid Papa wouldn’t like it.”
“Our papa is coming home to-day,” chimed in Molly, “and we haven’t seen him for more than a year.”
“Papas are pretty nice,” Barbara admitted, “but of course they’re not like mammas. I don’t think I could possibly leave Mamma, even to go to the nicest place in the world. Mamma says perhaps you can come to see us again some day. I’m so glad your name isn’t Delia Smith, Dulcie; Dulcie Winslow is ever so much prettier, and I think I like Daisy better than Margaret, too. I suppose your papa would be disappointed if you were away when he came. Haven’t you any mamma?”
“No,” said Dulcie, with a sigh; “she died when we were very little. I am the only one who can remember her.”
Barbara looked interested.
“My first mamma died when I was a little baby,” she said; “I can’t remember her a bit.”
The four little Winslows nearly dropped their spoons into the ice-cream, so great was their astonishment at this amazing announcement.