ghtingales; artistic playthings, porcelain
figures, suggested a child amused with dolls yet; but a multitude
of large books in gilt bindings suggested the active and
methodical development of a young mind, which surely had dreams
of Paradise on that lace and satin bed which covered a bedstead
inlaid with mother-of-pearl. On all the furniture: small
arm-chairs, tables, screens, which reminded one of
butterfly-wings, mother-of-pearl rainbow-tints passed into
milk-white. Spring tones, joyous motives, light and graceful
forms, filled the room of that little daughter of a millionnaire
with an atmosphere of childish innocence and tenderness; it was
lighted, from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall, with a
cheering light, poured from the rosy tulip-shaped shade of a
grand lamp.

In that rosy lamp-light Miss Mary seemed full of care. Under her
smooth hair her forehead was smooth and calm, but in her
thoughtful eyes, and in the way that her head rested on her hand,
anxiety was evident. Conscientiously devoted to the duties
undertaken by her, she retained the warmth and purity which
permeated the house of an Anglican pastor; chance had committed
to her care, in a strange atmosphere, a rare spirit, one of those
which come to the world in the form of a flame. Even three years
earlier, Cara had seemed to her, at first glance, one of those
souls for whom life is love, worship, trust, and--nothing more.
No ambitions or imaginings beyond those. All her thoughts and
wishes issued from her heart and went back to it. Her innate
sensitiveness was inexplicable in its source, just as genius is
in other persons. Sensitiveness in her demanded the
accomplishment of her wishes as imperiously as, in organisms of
another sort, hunger claims satisfaction for the body. She was by
nature a flame and a bird. The riddle of her existence was
involved in two words: to blaze and to fly. Besides, she had
impulse and caprice; she loved to twitter, and to laugh quietly
in a corner. From the thoughtfulness into which she dropped
oftener and oftener, she woke up as a gladsome and petted child;
that room was filled with her quick speech, her thin voice, her
gestures, almost theatrical, her laughing, her humming, and at
times all the drawing-rooms were filled with them.

This day she woke up full of twittering, and before dressing
threw her bare arms around Miss Mary, looking into her eyes,
declaiming verses, telling childish dreams.

"Why are you so