it in the very same careless loose knot represented in the picture; but
her management of Frederica's hair was the best thing. Its soft fair
luxuriance was, no one could tell how, made to assume the half dressed,
half undressed air of the head in Delaroche's picture; and Frederica
looked the part well.

"She should throw her head a little more back,"--whispered Hamilton Rush
to the manager;--"her head or her shoulders. She is not quite indignant
enough."

"That handkerchief in her hand is not right--" said Preston in a
responding whisper. "You see to it--while I get into disguise."

"That handkerchief, Mrs. Sandford--" Hamilton, said softly.

"Yes. Frederica, your hand with the pocket-handkerchief,--it is not
quite the thing."

"Why not?"

"You hold it like a New York lady."

"How _should_ I hold it?"

"Like a French queen, whose Austrian fingers may hold anything any way."
This was Hamilton's dictum.

"But how _do_ I hold it?"

"You have picked it up in the middle, and shew all the flower work in
the corners."

"You hold it too daintily, Frederica," said Theresa. "You must grasp
it--grasp it loosely--but as the distinguished critic who has last
spoken has observed."

Frederica dropped her handkerchief, and picked it up again exactly as
she had it before.

"Try again--" said Mrs. Sandford. "Grasp it, as Theresa says. Never mind
how you are taking it up."

"Must I throw it down again?"

"If you please."

"Take it up any way but in the middle," said Hamilton.

Down went the handkerchief on a chair, and then Frederica's fingers took
it up, delicately, and with a little shake displayed as before what
Hamilton called the flowers in the corners. It was the same thing. They
all smiled.

"She can't hold a handkerchief any but the one way--I don't believe,"
said her brother Alexander.

"Isn't it right?" said Frederica.

"Perfect, I presume, for Madison Square or Fifth Avenue--but not exactly
for a revolutionary tribunal," said Hamilton.

"What is the difference?"

"Ah, that is exactly what it is so hard to get at. Hello! Preston--is it
Preston? Can't be better, Preston. Admirable! admirable!"

"Well, Preston, I do not know you!" said Mrs. Sandford.

Was it Preston? Daisy could hardly believe her ears. Her eyes
certainly-told her another story. Was it Preston? in the guise and with
the face of an extremely ugly old woman--vicious and malignant,--who
taking post near the deposed queen, peered in