Vaughan was wrong. The child had a piquant face, full of charm, and her
head and chin had the poise of a princess. She had fair straight hair,
almond-shaped hazel eyes under pencilled brows, and a nose "tip-tilted
like a flower." Peggy Callahan, whose acquaintance you will make later,
said she guessed it was because Anne's nose was so cute and darling that
her eyebrows and her eyes and her mouth all pointed at it. But now the
little face was dismal and splotched with tears, the tawny hair was
tousled, and the white frock and white hair-ribbons were crumpled.
"Were you knocking at my door?" Anne asked in a voice made steady with
difficulty.
"Yes, miss. I thought you might be sick. We heard you crying."
"Oh!" The pale face reddened. "I didn't know any one could hear. The
walls of these rooms aren't very thick, are they?"
"No, miss." In spite of herself, Vaughan smiled at the quaint dignity of
the child. "Don't you want me to change your frock? Dear me! I ought not
to have forgot you last night! And breakfast? You haven't had breakfast,
have you?"
"No. Are you the--the--" Anne drew her brows together, in an earnest
search for a forgotten word.
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