"Wouldn't it be grand," she murmured dreamily, "to live in England?"

"Yes--grand," murmured Missy in response.

"Everything's so--so baronial over there."

Baronial!--as always, Tess had hit upon the exact word. Missy sighed
again. She had always loved Cherryvale, always been loyal to it; but
no one could accuse Cherryvale of being "baronial."

That evening, when Missy went upstairs to smooth her "nut-brown
locks" before supper, she gazed about her room with an expression of
faint dissatisfaction. It was an adequate, even pretty room, with
its flowered wall-paper and lace curtains and bird's-eye maple
"set"; and, by the window, a little drop-front desk where she could
sit and write at the times when feeling welled in her till it
demanded an outlet.

But, now, she had an inner confused vision of "lounging-chairs"
covered with pale-blue satin; of velvet, spindle-legged tables hung
with priceless lace and bearing Dresden baskets smothered in
flowers. Oh, beautiful! If only to her, Missy, such habitation might
ever befall!

However, when she started to "brush up" her hair, she eyed it with a
regard more favourable than usual. "Rich chestnut tresses!" She
lingered to contemplate, in the mirror, the great grey eyes which
looked back at her from their subtle depths. She had a suspicion the
act was silly, but it was satisfying.