Sandford had mysteriously managed it. She had
got over her hatred of the part, for she looked pleased and
pleasant; and the little basket in her hand and the short
petticoat and neat little feet completed a tidy Red Riding-
Hood. The applause was loud. "Lovely!" the ladies said. "What
a sweet little thing! how beautiful she looks!" Nora did not
smile, for that would have hurt her picture; but she stood
with swelling complacency and unchanging red cheeks as long as
the company were pleased to look at her.
"Who is that, Daisy?" asked her father, near whom Daisy had
stationed herself.
"It is Nora Dinwiddie, papa."
"She is a pretty little girl. When does your turn come?"
"I do not know, papa."
"Not know! Why, I thought all this was your affair."
"Oh, no, papa; it is Preston's affair."
Off ran Daisy, however, when the curtain fell, or rather when
it was drawn, to see the getting ready of the next tableau.
There was something of a tableau on hand already. June stood
holding up a small feather-bed, and two little figures in
white nightgowns were flying round, looking and laughing at
two exceedingly fierce, bearded, moustached, black-browed
individuals, on whose heads Mrs.
Pages:
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722