Dot slept in one of the visitor's rooms, and had a bathroom and a sitting-room opening off her bedroom for her exclusive use. The sitting-room and bedroom were "treated" with the same colouring--a tender wonderful shade of blue. The wall paper was just suggestive of blue; the ceiling was delicately veined with blue; the curtains were, Dot felt certain, blue. The easy chairs and the lounge, the footstools and the cushions were dull blue.

Such a beautiful room.

Again, in the bedroom, there were delicate suggestions of blue among the whiteness.

And the bathroom! How different in every way from the little wooden unlined room at home. There the ceiling-joists were gracefully festooned with cobwebs, the floor had many a great hole in it, caused by white ant and damp. No water was laid on--only a tap came from a tank outside, which in its turn was fed from an underground well. And whenever Dot wanted a bath she had to coax or bribe Cyril or Betty to work the pump.

Dot herself hated working the pump--it blistered her little hands.

Here the floor was leaded the walls tiled, the bath itself painted a delicate sea blue. There was a square of carpet just beyond the edge of the lead; a cushioned chair, two hospitable taps, one offering cold, one hot water. All sorts of toilet luxuries were at hand, pretty coloured soaps, loofahs, lavender-water, ammonia, violet powder, violet scent.

No wonder poor Dot was in an ecstasy with her surroundings, and that she roamed round her rooms and sighed with happiness because she was here, and with sorrow because she was going away in two days.

On Sat.u.r.day morning she and Alma went shopping. They breakfasted alone at nine o'clock, Alma's father being in his consulting-room and her mother in bed (she had been at the theatre on Friday evening and Dot had not even seen her).

So the two girls lingered over a very dainty breakfast table till nearly ten o'clock, when Alma suggested "shopping."

Dot had only two frocks, besides her morning pink print with her. One was a blue muslin that had to last her for next week at school; the other was a white muslin and her best. She had taken them out of her dress-basket and hung them carefully in her pretty wardrobe, and now that Alma spoke of shopping she was in miserable doubt which to wear.

"I'm going to wear a blue," said Alma, "you wear yours, too, Thea dear, and then people will think we are sisters. Sisters! Oh, don't I wish I had a sister!"

Dot, who possessed three, shook her head as she handled her muslin dress.

"I think it's very nice to be the only one," she said. "The only child!

It's lovely!"

"But I'm so lonely except when I'm at school," said Alma sadly.

Dot opened her eyes. She was just slipping her blue frock carefully over her shining curly head, but she stopped with her head half through to wonder at Alma.

"Lonely!" she said. "Here! In this house! And you've got your father and mother!"

Alma shook her head dolefully.

"Father is always busy," she said, "and mother is always out--or entertaining. Oh, Thea, I would love to have you for my very own sister.

I would give everything I have if I could have you."

Dorothea smiled kindly. Mona Parbury had told her the same--and Minnie Stevenson, and Nellie Harden. They all wanted her for their _very_ own sister. It was only such little madcaps as her own sisters, Betty and Nancy, who were indifferent.

Alma was small and undeveloped. She was seventeen and looked hardly fifteen. Her large dark eyes looked pathetic in her thin sallow face.

Her lips were thin and colourless, her hair straight and dull brown. No prettiness at all belonged to her. Only wistfulness and gentleness.

So they went shopping together, the two little girls in blue. And they had no chaperon at all with them, no schoolmistress, or governess, or mother, or aunt--no one to direct their eyes where they should look, and their smiles when they should be given out and when withheld. No one to carry the purse.

Dot had two shillings and sixpence halfpenny in her small worn purse.

Her mother had slipped the money in. "I can't bear for you to be without money, Dot dear," she had said, "but try your best not to spend it."

Alma's purse seemed full of half-crowns and shillings and sixpences!

Dot bought herself a new hat-band and a pretty lace-trimmed handkerchief; and she tried to hide from Alma how very little both had cost.

Alma made several peculiar mistakes in her purchases. For instance, she bought just twice as much gold liberty silk as she would need for a sash, and she had to beg Dot to accept the part that was too much, as she would be so tired of the thing if she had two _just_ alike. And she bought a pair of size two evening shoes, and remembered when they were going home that size two was a size too big for her. She wished she knew of any one who wore two's. Dot wore three's, didn't she? No?--two's! How lovely! Then Dot would take the shoes, wouldn't she, and save them from becoming mouldy! And she bought two pretty lace-trimmed collars, just alike--and she hated two of her things to be alike. So Dot would take one off her hands, wouldn't she?

Only each time she said "Thea," or "Thea darling!" And she bought her a silver "wish" bangle as a keepsake, and a little scent bottle and fan for "remembrance."

Before they went home they went into an arcade shop and had strawberries and cream, and a big ice cream and sponge cake each. And they met several straw-hatted youths to whom Alma bowed.

She told Dot to count how many hats were taken off to her, and Dot counted, and behold, the number was ten.

Dot herself felt rather envious. She only knew one grammar-school boy, who smiled from ear to ear and blushed with delight on seeing her.

Then they went home.

When they opened the dining-room door the table was set for luncheon, and a bald-headed gentleman was waiting at the head of it, a book propped up before him.

When the girls came in he went on reading just as before, deaf to their chatter, blind to the pretty blue of their dresses.

Alma ran down the room to him, and kissed the top of his head.

"Home again, father!" she said.

And then he looked up smiling, and stroked her little sallow face with one finger.

"This is my _very_ dearest friend--Dorothea Bruce!" said Alma delightedly, and drawing Dot forward.

The great doctor, who was small in stature, stood up then and took little Dot's hand in his, and a very kindly smile came to his eyes as he looked into her lovely childish face.

"I'm very glad to see my daughter's dearest friend," he said, and he patted her soft pink cheeks also.

The door opened again just as this introduction was over, and a new nervousness attacked Alma. Another tinge of yellowness crept into her skin, her eyes grew wistful, and she began to stammer.

"My f-friend, mother--Thea--Dorothea Bruce," and Dot turned curiously and shyly round to the door. Entering there was a very beautiful woman in a tea gown. Her eyes were like Alma's, only far lovelier, her complexion was only a few years less fresh and perfect than Dorothea's own--and her hair was red-gold and beautiful.

When her glance rested on Dorothea's face, a look of pleasure crept into them--just pleasure at seeing any one so flower-like and sweet as this little maid from school.

"I am very pleased to see you, dear," she said graciously, and she stooped forward and kissed the girl's cheek.

Then she looked at Alma--poor undersized Alma, with her yellow skin and bloodless lips--and she sighed. But she kissed her also, and asked how she had spent her morning and whether she had come from school this morning or yesterday afternoon.

When luncheon became the order of the day conversation died out. Dr.

Montague, indeed made two or three attempts at light talk--but Dot was shy and Alma was nervous and Mrs. Montague was apparently elsewhere in thought, so that presently silence fell.

Dinner was at seven that night. It was a meal of many courses, several wines two servants, and finger gla.s.ses. And again Dot was perfectly if silently happy--although the finger gla.s.ses (of which she had seen none before) threw, her off her balance until she had stolen a glance at Alma to "see how she did," whereupon Dot performed the operation with infinitely more grace than Alma.

Alma wore a white silk dress and gold sash, and Dorothea white muslin and gold sash, and the doctor's eyes went from one little whitely clad maid to the other, smilingly.

The happy look on his small daughter's face pleased him greatly.

His wife often said he neither saw nor heard what was going on around him, but he had very soon discovered his little girl's supreme contentment.