soft and sweet.

"I think a little girl has forgotten something," she said gently,
looking down into her Teacup.

Sara examined herself anxiously. She knew it was something about
herself, because the Plynck's tone was exactly like Mother's when she
wished to remind Sara, without seeming officious, that she had not
wiped her feet on the mat, or spread out her napkin, or remembered to
say "Thank you" at the exact psychological moment.

Sara was extremely anxious to please the Plynck, because she thought
her so pensive and pretty; but, try as she would, she couldn't think
what she had forgotten to do.

"Does a little girl wear her dimples in The House?" asked the Plynck,
still more gently.

"Oh, of course not!" said Sara, taking them off hastily. But she could
not help adding, as she looked around appreciatively at the silver
bushes and the blue plush grass and the alabaster moon-dial by the
fountain, "But this isn't The House, is it?"

"Isn't it?" asked the Plynck, glancing uneasily about her. What she
saw startled her so much that she dropped her Teacup. Of course it
flew up to a higher branch and balanced itself there instead of
falling; but the poor little thing was so round and fat,
that--especially as it hadn't any feet--it had some difficulty at
first in perching. As for the Plynck, she seemed so embarrassed over
her mistake that Sara felt dreadfully uncomfortable for her.