vanished from Angelina's heart and soul. She had seen, at that first
glimpse that her nurse had so rudely given her, that here at last, after
long, long waiting, was the blessing that she had so desired. She had
had other dolls--quite a number of them. Even now Lizzie (without an
eye) and Rachel (rather fine in bridesmaid's attire) were leaning their
disconsolate backs against the boarding beneath the window seat. There
had been, besides Rachel and Lizzie, two Annies, a Mary, a May, a
Blackamoor, a Jap, a Sailor, and a Baby in a Bath. They were now as
though they had never been; Angelina knew with absolute certainty of
soul, with that blending of will and desire, passion, self-sacrifice and
absence of humour that must inevitably accompany true love that here was
her Fate.

"It's been sent you by your kind Uncle Teny," said nurse. "You'll have
to write a nice letter and thank him."

* * * * *

But Angelina knew better. She--a name had not yet been chosen--had been
sent to her by her friend.... He had promised her last night that this
should be a day of days.

Her aunts, appearing to receive thanks where thanks were due, darkened
the doorway.

"Good-morning, mum. Good-morning, mum. Now, Miss 'Lina, thank your kind
aunties for their beautiful presents."

She stood up, clutching the doll.