Every inch of the proud little head was covered
with close short curls leaving the white neck free, and the hand lifted
to her mouth was of a waxen delicacy.
Netta opened a picture-book that Anastasia had brought down with her.
Felicia pushed it away. Netta opened it again. Then the child, snatching
it from her, sat down on the floor, and, before Netta could prevent her,
tore one of the pages across with a quick, vindictive movement--her
eyes sparkling.
"Naughty--! naughty!" said Netta in a scolding voice.
But Thyrza dropped her hand hastily into a gray calico pocket tied round
her waist, and again held out something.
"It is only a pear-drop," she said apologetically to Netta. "It won't
hurt her."
Felicia snatched at it at once, and sucked it, still flushed with
passion. Her mother smiled faintly.
"You like sweets?" she said, childishly, to her companion; "give me one?"
Thyrza eagerly brought out a paper bag from her pocket and Netta put out
a pair of thin fingers. She and her sisters had been great consumers of
sweet stuff in the small dark Florentine shops. The shared greediness
promoted friendship; and by the time Mrs. Dixon put in a reproachful face
with a loud--"Thyrza, what _be_ you a doin'?"--Mrs. Melrose knew as much
of the Tower, the estate, the farm, and the persons connected with them,
as Thyrza's chattering tongue could tell her in the time.
There was nothing, however, very consoling in the information. When
Thyrza departed, Mrs.
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