She had seen her shabby garments discarded
in dazzling shops, and fine apparel replace them. Once she had caught a
glimpse of her small, transformed self in a long mirror and her dark
eyes had widened. That was all. Lynda had watched her feverishly. She
had hoped that with the change of clothing the startling likeness would
lessen, but it did not. Robed in the trappings of her father's world,
little Ann seemed to become more wholly his.
"Do you like yourself, little Ann?" Lynda had asked when, at last, a
charming hat was placed upon the dark curls.
There was no word of reply--only the wide, helpless stare--and, to cover
her confusion, Lynda hurried away to Betty.
The maid who admitted her said that "Mrs. Kendall was upstairs in the
nursery with the baby."
Lynda paused on the stairs and asked blankly: "The baby? What baby?"
The maid was a trusted one and close to Betty.
"The little boy from the Home, Mrs. Truedale," she replied, "and already
the house is cheerfuller."
Lynda felt a distinct disappointment. She had hoped that Betty would
care for little Ann for a few days, but how could she ask it of her now?
In the sunny room upstairs Betty sat in a low rocker, crooning away to a
restless bundle in her arms.
"You, Lyn?" Lynda stood in the doorway; Betty's back was to her.
"Yes, Betty."
"Come and see my red-headed boy--my Bobilink! He's going to be Robert
Kendall.
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