“I seem to know you so well from Honor’s letters, that I would like you to know a little about _me_, and I send you my photograph. It is considered very like me, only my hair and complexion--which Honor will tell you are my two _strong_ points--do not come out. We devour her letters every week, and are quite familiar with Shirani, and the people there, and the flowers and the exquisite scenery, and your dear kind self. I envy Honor her delightful home--sometimes I cry when I think of it (and you will suppose that I am very foolish)--with balls, and parties, and picnics, and a pony of her own. Her life is a contrast to that of her poor little sister Fairy, who has no one to load her with kindness and gifts, and has not been to _one_ dance since May, and who must make a pair of gloves last for months. However, I am not grumbling; Honor’s pleasures are mine. I feel your great generosity to her, and am most grateful to you. When you have time, I hope you will send me your photograph--we have not one of you--and also a few lines to cheer up our long dull days. How I wish we could _afford_ to go away for a change! I dare say Honor has told you that at _first I_ was the one who was to have gone out to you, but afterwards it was decided by the prudent ones of the family (Jessie and Honor) that I was to remain at home. Still I have always had a sort of feeling that I belonged to you, because for three whole days I was the chosen one, and could hardly eat or sleep, I was so happy. Excuse this rambling letter; I am not a bit _clever_, like the others, but I am ever “Your loving niece, “FAIRY. “P.S.--Is Honor engaged yet? She never mentions any admirers.” It was the epistle of a Cinderella, and yet all her life Fairy had been made the family queen. Honor’s cheeks crimsoned with anger (her aunt imagined that it was the flush of shame or a guilty conscience) as she thought of the various little privations of her own and Jessie’s life, that Fairy might go softly; of the miles she had tramped, the shabby clothes she had worn for Fairy’s sake. It was but the other day that she had sent her eight pounds out of her allowance, instead of spending it on that pink ball-dress. Now that she was absent, there was, as Mr. Kerry had bluntly indicated, a larger margin for luxuries at home; it was really too bad that Fairy should write out to simple Aunt Sara, in this martyr-like vein. Honor looked vexed, as she raised her eyes and met her aunt’s gaze--an inquiring gaze. “And so the other child wanted to come?”--handing the letter from Honor to her husband. “And you never told me, you that are so free and open. Tell me now, since her mind was so set on it, _what_ prevented her?”