Before that grieved organ-tone of reproach, Kitty's eyes filled. I could
have wept at the greatness and the beauty of it, but the little artist
laughed through her tears.

"Helen Eliza, I repent," she said. "Time to be good, Mr. Burke, when she
says 'Kathryn.'"

Adjusting her hat before a glass, Kitty hummed with a voice that tried not
quaver:--

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Am I most beautiful of all?

"Queen, thou art not the fairest now;
Snow-white over the mountain's brow
A thousand times fairer is than thou.

"Poor Queen; poor all of us. I'm good, Helen," she repeated, whisking out
of the room.

"Such a chatterbox!" the goddess said. "But, John, am I really so much
altered? Is it true that--just at first, you know, of course--you didn't
know me?"

She bent on me the breathless look I had seen before. In her eagerness, it
was as if the halo of joy that surrounded her were quivering.

"I know you now; you are my Helen!"