"Don't be a little goose, Moll. She is like Queen Elizabeth, and you would say the same yourself if you saw her; but she is so nice and gentle that I am sure I shall soon love her. Well, let me go on. I want to tell you about the Red House." Then Mollie sighed with satisfaction, and composed herself to listen. Mollie, with all her sweetness and goodness, was a little Sybarite at heart. She loved pretty things, fine house, gems, beautiful dresses. Mr. Ward had been almost shocked when he had taken her one day to Bond Street to look at the shops. It was impossible to get her away from the jewellers'; the diamond tiaras and necklets riveted her. "Who buys them, dad?" she had asked, in quite a loud voice; "dukes and earls, and those sort of people?" "Yes, of course," returned Mr. Ward, a little impatiently, "and the Prince of Wales, I daresay;" for he was rather provoked at the attention the child was exciting. Two gentlemen who were passing, and had overheard Mollie's remark, smiled at each other. "What a beautiful child!" observed one; he was a tall, old man, with a fine, benevolent face. "You are right, Duke," returned the other, with a supercilious laugh. "Some little rustic come to town for the first time." "Come, Mollie," observed her father, rather crossly, "we must not take up the pavement in this way or the Bobby will be telling us to move on;" and then Mollie had limped on until another shop-window attracted her. Mr. Ward had felt a little perplexed by Mollie's unsatiable appetite for pretty things, and on their return home he unbosomed himself to Waveney. "All girls like shops," he said, seriously, "and I knew Mollie would be pleased, but I never expected her to glue her face to the glass for half an hour at a time. She made herself quite conspicuous, and several people laughed at her." "Mollie must be better behaved next time," returned Waveney, smiling. "Father, dear, I don't think it matters really. Mollie is young, and she leads such a quiet life, and sees so few things, that when she goes out she just loses her head. I think," she continued, calmly, "that she does care for pretty things more than most people,--she would love to be rich, and dress grandly, and have pictures and jewels and beautiful things. When we were tiny children she always would make me read the story of Cinderella; nothing else pleased her." "Don't you care for pretty things, too, Waveney?" asked her father, a little sadly. "Oh, yes, dad! All girls care a little, I think; but I am not always longing for them like Mollie. She makes up stories to amuse herself. Some one is to leave us a fortune, and we are all to be rich suddenly. She has actually imagined a house and fitted it up bit by bit; and just for the fun of the thing I have helped her--it is our play-house, you know. But Mollie thinks it quite real. If you say to her, 'Let us go down to Kitlands,' her eyes brighten, and she looks quite happy."