"To dance in," said Laura, composedly. "I am going to dance in 'Scheradez, or the Magic Pumpkin.' It is so pretty! But Miss Benette is so kind to me; she lets me have tea with her the nights I dance." "But do you live in this house, then?" "Oh, I wish I did! Oh, Clara, I wish I did live with you!" and she burst into a fit of her tears. Miss Benette arose and came to her, laying down a piece of muslin she was embroidering. "Do not cry, dear; it will spoil your pretty frock,--besides, Master Auchester has come on purpose to sing, and you detain him." Laura instantly sat on a chair before the music-stand; her diaphanous skirts stood round her like the petals of a flower, and with the tears yet undried she began to sing, in a clear little voice, as expressionless as her eyes, but as enchanting to the full as her easy, painless movements. It was very pleasurable work now, and Clara corrected us both, she all the while sustaining a pure golden soprano. "I am tired," suddenly said Laura. "Then go into the other room and rest a little. Do not ruffle your hair, which I have smoothed so nicely, and be sure not to lie down upon the bed, or you will make those light skirts as flat as pancakes." "How am I to rest, then?" "In the great white chair." "But I don't want to sit still,--I only mean I am tired of singing. I want to dance my _pas_." "Then go into the other room all the same; there is no carpet,--it is best." "I don't like dancing in that room, it is so small." "It is not smaller than this one. The fact is, you want to dance to Master Auchester." "Yes, so I do." "But he came to sing, not to see you." "I should like to see her dance, though," said I. "Do let her, Miss Benette!" "If you can stay. But do not begin the whole of that dance, Laura,--only the finale, because there will not be time; and you will besides become too warm, if you dance from the beginning, for the cold air you must meet on your way to the theatre." Miss Benette's solemn manner had great authority over the child, it was certain. She waited until the elder had put aside the brown table,--"That you may not blow my bits of work about and tread upon them," she remarked. "Shall I sing for you, Laura?" "Oh, please do, pray do, Miss Benette!" I cried; "it will be so charming." She began gravely, as in the anthem, but with the same serene and genial perfection, to give the notes of a wild measure, in triple time, though not a waltz.