a live one in the morning, and then he said: "That's very
sad. But dead dolls do come to life."

The little girl looked up at him, and surveyed him
intently and critically, and then smiled, with the dimples
showing, as much as to say that she understood him and
approved of him entirely. Van Bibber answered this sign
language by taking Madeline's hand in his and asking her how
she liked being a great actress, and how soon she would begin
to storm because THAT photographer hadn't sent the proofs.
The young woman understood this, and deigned to smile at it,
but Madeline yawned a very polite and sleepy yawn, and closed
her eyes. Van Bibber moved up closer, and she leaned over
until her bare shoulder touched his arm, and while the woman
buttoned on her absurdly small shoes, she let her curly head
fall on his elbow and rest there. Any number of people had
shown confidence in Van Bibber--not in that form exactly, but
in the same spirit--and though he was used to being trusted,
he felt a sharp thrill of pleasure at the touch of the child's
head on his arm, and in the warm clasp of her fingers around
his. And he was conscious of a keen sense of pity and sorrow
for her rising in him, which he crushed by thinking that it
was entirely wasted, and that the child was probably perfectly
and ignorantly happy.

"Look at that, now," said the wardrobe woman, catching
sight of the child's closed eyelids; "just look at the rest of
the little dears, all that excited they can't stand still to
get their hats on, and she just as unconcerned as you please,
and after making the hit of the piece, too."