"but those exquisite little sugar-dishes! My dear Fleda, every
one has his own sugar-dish and cream-ewer — the loveliest
little things!"

"I have heard of such things before," said Fleda.

"I don't care about the bread and butter," — said Constance —
"eating is immaterial, with those perfect little things right
opposite to me. They weren't like any you ever saw, Fleda —
the sugar-bowl was just a little, plain, oval box, with the
lid on a hinge, and not a bit of chasing, only the arms on the
cover — like nothing I ever saw but a old-fashioned silver
tea-caddy; and the cream-jug, a little, straight, up-and-down
thing to match. Mamma said they were clumsy, but they
bewitched me!"

"I think everything bewitched you," said Fleda, smiling.
"Can't your head stand a sugar-dish and milk-cup?"

"My dear Fleda, I never had your superiority to the ordinary
weaknesses of human nature — I can stand _one_ sugar-bowl, but I
confess myself overcome by a dozen. How we have all wanted to
see you, Fleda! and papa — you have captivated papa! — and he
says —"


"Never mind; don't tell me what he says," said Fleda.

"There! — that's your modesty that everybody rave about: I
wish I could catch it. Fleda, where did you get that little