Marjorie gave a quick start, and her voice quivered sadly as she
cried,--

"Oh, blessed sunbeam, don't force me to see it! Let me go back and try
to be better before I see my likeness. I am afraid now. The outside
prettiness is n't anything, unless one's spirit is lovely too; and I--I
could not look, for I know--I know how hateful mine would be. I have
learned about it now, and it's like a book; if the story the book tells
is not beautiful, the pictures won't be good to see. I have learned
about it now, and I know better than I did. May I--oh, may I try
again?"

She waited in an agony of suspense for the answer; and when it came,
and the voice said gently, "It is your turn next," she cried aloud,--

"Not yet, oh, not yet! Let me wait. Let me try again."


And there she was, with her cheeks all flushed and tear-stained, her
hair in loose, damp curls about her temples, and her frock all rumpled
and crushed in her mother's arms; and her mother was saying,--

"Bad dreams, sweetheart? You have had a fine, long nap; but it is your
turn next, and I have had to wake you. Come, dear! Now we must see if
we cannot get a good likeness of you,--just as you really are."




WHAT HAPPENED TO LIONEL.