Sally kept her sobs back with a vicious pinch of her own arm which almost made her scream, and placed the hat on the Duchess's head, to the best advantage be sure. There was no meanness in Sally's soul. She could suffer and be strong. Nothing would satisfy the Duchess that afternoon but to dress herself in her best clothes, and go out and show herself. It was done; and in her blue-merino dress, her boots made for her in the most dainty fashion by Seth's loving hands, her hat and her gold earrings, she walked about Rosemary Lane, with Sally by her side, the envy and admiration of all beholders. In the eyes of the Rosemary Lane folk Sally was a most complete foil to the beautiful Duchess. Her hands were dirty, and her clothes had many a hole in them; but there was a soft light in her eyes, and an expression of deep, almost suffering devotion in her face, which might have attracted the attention of close observers--and not entirely to Sally's disadvantage. The Duchess had an afternoon of rare enjoyment; even those who envied her paid court to her, and her train included all the young radicals in Rosemary Lane who had hitherto held aloof from her, but who now, fairly conquered by the splendour of her personal adornment, fell down and worshipped. It was the story of the golden calf over again--the old story which to-day is being enacted with so much fervour by beggar and millionaire, from Whitechapel to Belgravia. Late at night, when the Duchess was asleep with her gold earrings in her ears, and her new hat hanging by the side of her bed, so that she might see it the moment she awoke in the morning, Sally, with tears in her eyes, wrapt the bits of trumpery glass in paper, and placed them carefully away. "She'll be hunting about for 'em soon," thought Sally, "and then I'll give 'em to her." But the Duchess never sought, never asked for the common love-gift; it was worthless in her eyes, being worthless in itself; she had gold earrings now, and perhaps by-and-by--who could tell?--she would have earrings with sparkling stones in them, worth a handful of money. For in the Duchess's soul was growing a most intense hankering after fine things. She would wander by herself away from Sally and Seth and Rosemary Lane into the thoroughfares frequented by ladies and gentlemen, and watch them and their dress and ways with an eager, strange, and restless spirit. She saw children beautifully dressed riding in carriages; and, yearning to be like them, would shed rebellious tears at the fate which bound her to Rosemary Lane. It is not to be supposed that she considered this matter as clearly as it is here briefly expressed; she was not yet old enough to give it clear expression; but she felt it; the seed of discontent was implanted within her, and grew for lack of material and intellectual light. Intellectual light Seth Dumbrick certainly did give the Duchess, but it was light of a kind which dazed and confused her mental vision.