her cheek upon the hand, she looked up timidly and wistfully into the
friendly face that was smiling serenely over her. After a moment's
pause, she said abruptly: "I don't know how to begin, so I won't begin
at all, but tell it right out. You see, dear Mrs. Delano, I am a
colored girl."

The lady's smile came nearer to a laugh than was usual with her. She
touched the pretty dimpled cheek with her jewelled finger, as she
replied: "O, you mischievous little kitten! I thought you were really
going to tell me something about your troubles. But I see you are
hoaxing me. I remember when you were at Madame Conquilla's you always
seemed to be full of fun, and the young ladies there said you were a
great rogue."

"But this is not fun; indeed it is not," rejoined Flora. "I _am_ a
colored girl."

She spoke so earnestly that the lady began to doubt the evidence of
her own eyes. "But you told me that Mr. Alfred Royal was your father,"
said she.

"So he was my father," replied Flora; "and the kindest father that
ever was. Rosa and I were brought up like little princesses, and we
never knew that we were colored. My mother was the daughter of a rich
Spanish gentleman named Gonsalez. She was educated in Paris, and was
elegant and accomplished. She was handsomer than Rosa; and if you were
to see Rosa, you would say nobody _could_ be handsomer than she is.
She was good, too. My father was always saying she was the dearest and
best wife in the world. You don't know how he mourned when she died.
He couldn't bear to have anything moved that she had touched. But