"I suppose Miss Glenalvan is very pretty, is she not, Ruby?" said Golden, as she combed and brushed the little girl's long, shining, black ringlets. "Oh, yes, she is very pretty--she has large, black eyes, and rosy cheeks, and splendid hair, but she is not beautiful like you, Mary," was the prompt reply. "You must not let Miss Glenalvan hear you say that," said Golden. "She would be displeased." "Hump!" said Ruby, carelessly, then she flew to another subject, while Golden trembled nervously. "Uncle Bert is looking wretchedly ill. Ouch, Mary, what _did_ make you jerk that curl so? His eyes are as big as saucers. Are you almost done? You pull my hair dreadfully. I asked him if he was going to marry Miss Glenalvan. He said that was a silly question. Mary, what has come over you? You were never so rough with my head before." "There, it is finished now. I did not mean to hurt you; excuse me, dear," faltered Golden, as she laid out the white lace dress and satin slippers for the eager child. "All right, I am not angry," said Ruby. "I told Uncle Bert what a kind girl you were, and he was delighted to hear it. I wanted to tell him you were pretty, too, but I didn't, as you didn't want him to know _that_. But I can tell you one thing, Mary, if he ever sees you, he will find out for himself." "What! in this great cap and glasses?" cried Golden, alarmed. "Yes, indeed; you can't hide your round cheeks, and your red mouth, and your dimpled chin!" cried the child, in pretty triumph. "I can keep out of Mr. Chesleigh's way, anyhow," Golden replied, as she buttoned the pretty dress and clasped a slight gold chain around the white neck of the child. "Now you are quite finished," she said. "You look very sweet, and I hope you will enjoy yourself very much." "Thank you," said the little girl, impulsively kissing her; then she added, a little pityingly: "It is a pity _you_ cannot be dressed in white, and go to the ball, too, Mary. Do you never wish to?" "Sometimes," admitted Golden, with her sweet frankness, and a soft, little sigh. Ruby studied her attentively a moment, her dark head perched daintily like a bird's. "I should like to see you in a ball-dress," she said. "It should be a white lace over blue satin, and looped with violets. You should have large, white pearls around your neck, and your hair hanging down and a _bandeau_ of pearls to bind it. It is a great pity you are not rich, Mary. People say that you are too pretty to be a servant." Something like a sob rose in Golden's throat and was hardly repressed. They had told her this so often. She was beautiful, but it had only brought her sorrow. To her, as her mother, had been given-- "The fatal gift of beauty which became A funeral dower of present woes and past." "I am very sorry I am so pretty, Ruby," she said, sorrowfully, and the child answered, quickly: "I would not be sorry if I were you, Mary. Some good man will fall in love with your pretty face some day and marry you."