“I really think you had better rest. You _must_ be tired. No, of course”—at Dosia’s laughing remonstrance—“the drive was nothing, but the shock—a shock like that tells on you before you know it. Here comes your trunk; have you the key? Elizabeth, unpack Miss Dosia’s trunk, and get out a dressing-gown for her. I’m going to insist on your lying down on the lounge for a while. Now, don’t do that, Elizabeth will take off your shoes for you. And, Amelia,”—this to the maid at the hearth,—“bring up some tea and biscuits. No, you don’t care for tea? Well, a glass of sherry, then, and some hothouse grapes. My dear Dosia,—you’ll let me call you Dosia, won’t you?—you may not feel the need of it now, but it will do you good. I’m not going to stay with you, I’ll just move this little table with the magazines on it near you, and leave you to rest; but first I want to show you this.” She opened the door of a smaller, hexagonal apartment adjoining. “I’m going to turn it into a music-room for you.” “Oh, Mrs. Leverich!” protested Dosia, in amazement. “I’ve been thinking of it all the way home in the carriage. Of course, you won’t want to practice down-stairs, where people are coming in and out all the time; it would be very annoying to you. This has been used as an extra dressing-room. I shall have those thick hangings taken down and the furniture moved out, and put in light chairs and a cottage piano, and a few palms over by the window. You’ll see!” “But, Mrs. Leverich——” “Now, don’t say a _word_; it’s all settled. Elizabeth will come to you when it’s time to dress, so you need give yourself no anxiety about that. Just let me draw this coverlet over you and tuck your feet in. Now, how sweet you do look, to be sure!” Dosia did “look sweet,” and as comfortable and soft as a kitten. The light-blue kimono of outing flannel,—of which she had been half ashamed when the maid unpacked it,—though cheap, was becoming; her loosened hair fell over the blended pillows and the rosy coverlet. The wood fire at which she gazed crackled and sent out the pungent, aromatic smell of Southern pine, which mingled with the perfume of a bunch of violets on the table near the golden sherry in its crystal glass, and the plate of white and reddish grapes. There was the unaccustomed stillness of a large, well-appointed house, where the walls were deadened to sound, and the floors had thick-piled rugs upon them, and the servants walked with soft-shod feet. Such luxurious well-being had never been Dosia’s before. This was like being in a fairy palace, where you had only to clap your hands to get anything you wished for. And the most charming thing about the fairy palace was that there you always met the prince.