Pepsie pinned, and snipped, and smoothed, all the while smiling with that little air of unconcern which so puzzled the child. Presently, without looking up, she said:
“Can’t you guess, Lady, who it’s for?”
“Isn’t it for Sophie Paichoux?” ventured Lady Jane.
“No, no,” said Pepsie decidedly; “the one I mean it for isn’t any relation to me.”
“Then, I don’t know any other little girl. Oh, Pepsie, I can’t guess.”
“Why, you dear, stupid, little goose!” cried Pepsie, laughing aloud.
“Oh, Pepsie. It isn’t! is it?” and Lady Jane’s eyes shone like stars, and her face broke into a radiant smile. “Do you mean it for me? Really, do you, Pepsie?”
“Why, certainly. Who do you think I’d make it for, if not for you?”
“Oh, you dear, darling Pepsie! But why didn’t you say so just at first? Why—why did you make me,” she hesitated for a word, and then added, “why did you make me—jealous?”
“I only wanted to tease you a little,” laughed Pepsie. “I wanted to see if you’d guess right off. I thought you’d know right away that I didn’t love any one else well enough to make a domino for her, and I wanted to try you, that was all.”