As I continued to face the responsibilities of her case I grew more tranquil. I reasoned that it was perhaps best not to resist the unmistakable leadings of Fate, which seemed to point to a destiny for the girl different from the one desired by the Doña Maria. Her remarkable beauty, the truly good blood which ran in her veins, to say nothing of her laudable ambition and determination not to accept a husband dictated by the priest or her relatives, justified me in the belief that she had outgrown the old life, which was now each day growing more and more intolerable. With care and advantages, it seemed not only credible, but certain, that Mariposilla might eventually satisfy her ambition. The longer I thought upon the subject, the more I felt it to be my duty to watch jealously the marvelous and unavoidable development of this wonderful girl. In a word, I compromised with my contending emotions, instituting myself the guardian of her glorious beauty. Our arrival at the hotel was concurrent with the usual lively glimpses of festivity always prevalent at a pleasure resort upon the approach of evening. A gush of music, the ripple of laughter, the tripping of feet, and the spontaneous rush of cherubs in white frocks to investigate our arrival constituted for Mariposilla and Marjorie a prime reception. Mrs. Sanderson awaited us upon the landing of the broad staircase, then led us cordially to her own apartments. When she threw open the door to her sitting-room, Mariposilla exclaimed with pleasure as the lady drew her affectionately to the open fire. "Sit down, little one," she said. "I will draw some tea, while Sid attends to the luggage. My pretty butterfly must be warmed after her drive; for of course she is to outshine all beauties at the ball to-night." As Mrs. Sanderson spoke, she went to the tea-table, where the kettle was already singing. I could see, as Mariposilla received her tea from the hand of our hostess, that the shell-like cup and saucer were a source of apprehension. The child dreaded a catastrophe more than she would have dreaded, a month previous, a dire calamity in her family. Covertly she watched me as I deposited upon the side of my saucer the biscuit that must not interfere with the manipulation of my spoon. But, although she endeavored to follow my exact policy, her first attempt at tea drinking was destined to be unfortunate. Mariposilla had not yet achieved the confidence necessary for the poise and counterpoise of the treacherous spoon. The girl had not yet attained the dallying point. She could not yet sip tea one moment with assurance, the next, disregard the responsibilities of Dresden or Coalport china while she chatted unconsciously with her neighbor. Notwithstanding her most earnest efforts to succeed in the undertaking, the spoon flew at an aggravating tangent across the room. In a frantic lurch to capture it she upset her cup, spilling into her lap the steaming tea.