slowly opened. Thyrza looked round and saw in the aperture a tiny white
figure. It was the Melrose baby, standing silent, wide-eyed, with its
fingers in its mouth, and Anastasia behind it. Anastasia, whose look was
still thunderous, explained that she was unpacking and could not do with
it. The child toddled in to its mother, and Thyrza exclaimed in
admiration:

"Oh, you _are_ a little beauty!"

And she caught up one of the brass curtain rings lying on the table, and
tried to attract the baby with it. But the little thing took not the
smallest notice of the lure. She went straight to her mother, and,
leaning against Netta's knee, she turned to stare at Thyrza with an
intensity of expression, rare in a child so young. Thyrza, kneeling on
the floor, stared back--fascinated. She thought she had never seen
anything so lovely. The child had her father's features, etherealized;
and great eyes, like her mother, but far more subtly beautiful. Her skin
was pale, but of such a texture that Thyrza's roses-and-milk looked rough
and common beside it. 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.