"Do the Prince and Sir Ralph Moray intend to go over as samples?" I asked sweetly, but Mamma only simpered, and as a self-respecting child I cannot approve of a parent's simpering. "I wish you wouldn't be silly, Beechy," she said. "It is a step, being a Countess, but it is not enough." "You mean, the more crowns you have, the more crowns you want." "I mean nothing of the sort," snapped Mamma, "but I have some ambition, otherwise what would have been the good of coming to Europe? And if one gets opportunities, it would be sinful to neglect them. Only--one wants to be sure that one has taken the best." "There they all three are, in the yard," I remarked, pointing out of the window at the Opportunities, who were discoursing earnestly with Joseph. "Of course, I'm too young _now_ to judge of such matters, but if it was _I_ who had to choose--" "Well?" "I'd toss up a penny, and whichever side came, I'd take--" "Yes?" "Mr. Barrymore." "Mr. Barrymore! But he has no title! I might as well have stayed in America." "I said that, because I think he'd be the hardest to get. The other two--" "What about them?" "Well, you don't need to decide between them yet. Just wait till we've travelled a little further, and see whether you come across anything better worth having." "Oh, Beechy, I never know whether you're poking fun at me or not," sighed poor Mamma, so forlornly that I was sorry--for a whole minute--that I'd been born wicked; and I tied her tulle in a lovely bow at the back of her neck, to make up. IX A CHAPTER OF REVELATIONS Maida really was the prettiest thing ever created, when I looked down at her from Mamma's window, as she arranged flowers and cups and saucers on the table which the monk had carried out for her, into the garden. He had quite a gallant air, in his innocent way, as if he were an old beau, instead of a monk, and his poor face seemed to fall when Mamma's untitled Opportunity--all unconscious that he was an Opportunity--saw Maida, left Joseph, and sprang to her assistance. But no wonder those two men, so different one from the other, found the same joy in waiting on her! The morning sun sprinkled gold on her hair, and made her fair skin look milky white, like pearl; then, when she would pass under the arbour of trees, the shadows threw a glimmering veil over her, and turned her into a mermaid deep down in the green light of the sea. I don't believe our glorified chauffeur would have stopped talking motor talk and run about with dishes for Mamma or me as he did for Maida. And I wonder if one of us had adopted that little scarecrow of a black dog, whether he would have given it a bath in the fountain and dried it with his pocket-handkerchief?