The donkey women were leading their patient little animals away from the
stand on the sea promenade, up to Sorbio for the night; and their dark
faces under the queer, mushroom hats were ruddy and beautiful in the
rose-light.
"As soon as the sun goes down, it gets dark here," said Rosemary,
regretfully. "Thank you very much, but I'd rather go home now. You see,
I do _so_ want you to be there already, waiting to surprise Angel when
she comes in."
"No time even to buy a doll?"
"I'd rather go home, thank you. Besides, though I should like to have a
new doll, perhaps darling Evie would be sad if I played with another."
Hugh was obediently turning the car's bonnet towards Monte Carlo, and
for the fraction of a second he was foolish enough almost to lose
control of it, on account of a start he gave. "Evie!" he echoed.
It was years since he had spoken that name.
"She's my doll," explained Rosemary.
"Oh!" said Hugh.
"But I don't think she'd mind or be sad if you gave me a doll's house,"
went on the child, "if you _should_ have time to get it for me by and
bye; that is, if you really want to give me something for Christmas, you
know.
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