"I hope she will like it," said Missy, irrelevantly, getting up and pushing her ottoman over to her mother's sofa, then, before sitting down, going to the table and putting a leaf of geranium in a different attitude, then stepping back and looking at it. An India bowl was filled with scarlet geranium, and the light of a low lamp fell upon it and made a beautiful patch of color. "I might as well light the candles," she said, "and then I will sit down quietly and wait." She took a lighter, and stooping to the fire, set it ablaze, and went to some candles on the low book shelves and lighted them. "I begrudge my pretty candles," she said, turning her head to look at the effect. "Why do you light them then?" said her mother, with a faint sigh. "Come and sit down." "In a moment," answered Missy. "I wonder if the hall is light enough." She had looked at the hall lamps half a dozen times, but in fact she was too restless to sit down. She pulled the bell impatiently, and a tidy maid in spotless cap and apron came. She had perceived an imperfection in the adjustment of a rug, and like a wise housekeeper, she did not readjust it herself. Then she scanned the maid's costume, all with the eyes of the unwelcome guest. "I thought that you understood me that I did not want those aprons worn again. Put on one of the new set that I gave you." Mrs. Varian sighed; she could never at any period of life have dared to do the like, but Missy was a little dragon, and kept the servants in good order, aprons and all. The servant retired to correct her costume, and Missy began to look about for something else to correct. But the room was all in perfect order, glowing with warmth and color, delicious with the scent of flowers, there was nothing for her to do. She walked up and down before the fire, with the air of a person who objects to sitting down and having a quiet talk, at least so her mother thought.