egiment called on Mrs.
Buller, and would say, "Is that poor Vandaleur's child? Dear me! Very
interesting little thing;" and speculate in my hearing on the
possibility of my growing up like my mother.

"'Pon my soul, she _is_ like her!" said one of the "middle ones" one
day, examining me through his eyeglass, "Th' same expressive eyes, you
know, and just that graceful gracious little manner poor Mrs. Vandaleur
had. By Jove, it was a shocking thing! She was an uncommonly pretty
woman."

"You never saw _her_ mother, my good fellow," said one of the "old ones"
who was present. "She _had_ a graceful gracious manner, if you like, and
Mrs. Vandaleur was not to be named in the same day with her. Mrs.
Vandaleur knew how to dress, I grant you----"

"You may go and play, Margery dear," said Aunt Theresa, with kindly
delicacy.

The "old one" had lowered his voice, but still I could hear what he
said, as Mrs. Buller saw.

When my father was not spoken of, my feelings were very little hurt. On
this occasion my mind was engaged simply with the question whether I did
or did not inherit my mother's graces. I ran to a little looking-glass
in the nursery and examined my eyes; but when I tried to make them
"expressive," I either frowned so unpleasantly, or stared so absurdly,
that I could not flatter myself on the point.

The girls were out; I had nothing to do; the nursery was empty. I walked
about, shaking out my skirts, and thinking of my gracious and graceful
manner. I felt a pardonable curiosity to see this for myself, and,
remembering the big glass in Aunt Theresa's room, I stole out to see if
I could make use of it unobserved. But the gentlemen had gone, and I
feared that Mrs. Buller might come up-stairs. In a few minutes, however,
the door-bell rang, and I heard the sound of a visitor being ushered
into the drawing-room.

I seized the chance, and ran to Aunt Theresa's room.

The mirror was "full length," and no one could see me better than I now
saw myself. Once more I attempted to make expressive eyes, but the
result was not favourable to vanity. Then I drew back to the door, and,
advancing upon the mirror with mincing steps, I threw all the grace and
graciousness of which I was conscious into my manner, and holding out my
hand, said, in a "company voice," "_Charmed_ to see you, I'm sure!"

"_Mais c'est bien drole!_" said a soft voice close behind me.

I had not heard the door open, and yet there stood Aunt Theresa on