smooth her hair and pet her. "I'm awfully glad. I'd ever so much rather
stay in than come out. Yes, dear little mother."

"Little?"

"Yes." And the girl pulled her mother from her chair, and made her stand
up to measure. "See, McDonald, almost an inch taller than mamma, and
when I do my hair on top!"

"And see, mamma"--the girl was pirouetting on the floor--"I can do those
steps you do. Isn't it Spanish?"

"Rather Spanish-American, I guess. This is the way."

Evelyn clapped her hands. "Isn't that lovely!"

"You are only a little brownie, after all." Her mother was holding her
at arm's--length and studying her critically, wondering if she would ever
be handsome.

The girl was slender, but not tall. Her figure had her mother's grace,
but not its suggestion of yielding suppleness. She was an undoubted
brunette--complexion olive, hair very dark, almost black except in the
sunlight, and low on her forehead-chin a little strong, and nose piquant
to say the least of it. Certainly features not regular nor classic. The
mouth, larger than her mother's, had full lips, the upper one short, and
admirable curves, strong in repose, but fascinating when she smiled. A
face not handsome, but interesting. And the eyes made you hesitate to
say she was not handsome, for they were large, of a dark hazel and
changeable, eyes that flashed with merriment, or fell into sadness under