She dimpled and sauntering to the mirror, she glanced in giving her mass of golden curls a feminine poke. She even slipped a vanity-case from her pocket and powdered her wee, up-tilted nose.
"We may as well look our best," laughed she over her shoulder.
"Certainly."
"Perhaps I might take off my smock and go up in my dark dress."
"I wouldn't. The smock is gay and suits you. Invalids need cheering up."
"So they do," agreed Sylvia demurely, now quite self-possessed.
A flutter of anticipation had put a sparkle into her eyes and faint color into her cheeks. She looked bewilderingly pretty.
"Here goes Red-Ridinghood," she murmured, taking up the tray. "All is, if I don't come back, you'll know the wolf has eaten me."
In spite of herself, Marcia smiled.
She opened the door and stood watching while the girl ascended the stairs, for the hall was unlighted and the tray heavy.