possible that any place in which Sara lived might turn out to be nice. “Why isn’t it, Sara?” she almost whispered.
Sara hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a sort of comfort in the warmth of the plump, childish body. She had had a hard day and had been staring out of the windows with hot eyes.
“You can see all sorts of things you can’t see downstairs,” she said.
“What sort of things?” demanded Lottie, with that curiosity Sara could always awaken even in bigger girls.
“Chimneys—quite
call her his “little missus” because she had such an old-fashioned air.
He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. Among other things, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection. When she had replied to the letter asking her if