I had always noticed that Mrs. Sanderson was exuberant in the evening. To her theatrical nature there was something exhilarating in the flicker of artificial lights. When high noon told her unpleasant truths, she forgot them the same evening, amid shaded lamps and candles. An open fire could warm her usually chilly sympathies, until she sometimes forgot her selfishness in genuine kindness. At such times, occasionally, she grew honest, and often liberal. She had declared that misfortunes and ugly surroundings would soon make her a devil. It was only when deceived by luxury and flattery that she was capable of good thoughts. "I am naturally depraved before I have had my bath and my early coffee," she would say, jestingly, to the amazement of the literal, whom she delighted to shock. "Sid, the scamp, knows better than to cross me before luncheon. In the evening he is safe. When he sees that I am in the ecstasies of dotage, a perfect old egotist, happy with illusions, he imposes upon me shamefully." Strange, worldly woman that she was, it was impossible to condemn her brilliancy. She had told us that her great grandmother was a Frenchwoman of rank, and as I regarded her this Christmas Eve, I seemed to see the proud dame of the fallen monarchy living again in the imperious form of her descendant. I had not completed my hasty toilet when Mariposilla came flying to my door, breathless. She held in her arms the dress of cream and gold. "See," she cried; "they have made a mistake! and I must again part with the beautiful dress. Can I not wear it this once that my friends may see it?" I had not the heart to rebuke her; she was so lovely in her ignorance. I could only smile indulgently, as I bade her enjoy the frock, which was to be her Christmas present. "Dear, kind Señora," she exclaimed, passionately kissing my hand; "I will indeed be good! I will indeed learn fast." "Very well," I replied, "if you are good I shall always be glad that I was able to please you. But come, dear child," I urged; "make haste, for the Doña Maria is calling. She will be deeply annoyed if we allow her supper to cool." It was astonishing how quickly Mariposilla complied with my command. Her transformation appeared to occupy but a moment. And never was the awakening of an actual butterfly more surprising or triumphant. Her joy in her enhanced beauty was rapturous and innocent. When we entered the living-room she hugged herself with delightful vanity as she approached the astonished Doña Maria. "Am I not grand? Am I not beautiful?" she demanded. "Is not my dress more rich than the dresses in the green chest of my grandmother? Be happy with me, dear mother. Kiss thy child, and give her at last the little necklace of opals. See," she continued, coaxingly, peering into a mirror, "see how sweetly the necklace will lie against my throat; just as my beautiful Aunt Lola once wore it," she entreated in Spanish.