“My dear, you have been so kind to me, I will gratify you in this, only please remember that I do not care to have it spoken of again. A year ago—yes, and much less—my prospects in life were as bright as your own are now. But death and misfortune took everything from me, and I was obliged to do something for my own support.” “Did you live in an elegant house, and have servants, horses, and carriages?” “Yes.” “Have you always had these things until now?” “Yes, dear.” “Then you are every bit as good as we are, and it’s a shame that you are not treated as an equal,” burst from Viola’s lips, indignantly, as she remembered all Isabel’s sneers about “the governess,” and her mother’s scathing remarks regarding “that person, Miss Douglas.” “Hush, Viola!” Brownie said, quietly, yet again smiling at the child’s naïve remark. “Shall I tell you what my idea of a fine lady is?” “Yes, do,” Viola said, eagerly. “In the first place, it is to be always kind and courteous to every one; to respect one’s self, so that one would never do a mean or cruel act; and never to triumph over or hold one’s self above others who may be less fortunate in life.” “That’s it! that’s it! I only wish mamma and Isabel could hear you. They think they are fine ladies, but, dear Miss Douglas, I’d rather be one after your standard, and I will!” and the impulsive girl threw her arms around Brownie’s neck and kissed her heartily. Brownie was afraid she had made a mistake in speaking thus. She thought it wise now to change the subject, and asked: “Where did you get such lovely flowers, dear?” “Oh, I nearly forgot! Wilbur sent them to you, with his compliments,” Viola said, apologetically, as she gave them to her. Miss Douglas colored a vivid crimson. She did not like to take gifts from him, knowing the feelings of Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel; and, at the same time, she did not like to wound him by refusing them. “They are very beautiful, dear, and it is very kind of your brother to remember me. But there are so many of them, let me fasten this spray in your hair.” She took the loveliest cluster of white moss rosebuds from the bouquet. “There, see for yourself. Is it not an improvement?” she asked, as her deft fingers wove it among Viola’s golden braids. “Thank you,” the young girl said, her face beaming with pleasure. “But you have given me the prettiest you had, Miss Douglas,” she added, regretfully. “And why shouldn’t I, dear? I have not forgotten who was so kind and faithful to a poor, sick, useless little body when we were crossing the ocean,” Brownie playfully replied, as she kissed the flushed cheek. She then selected a few flowers for herself, and telling Viola that she was ready, they both descended to the drawing-room. A hush of expectation followed their entrance.