eal better to look
like our own selves, isn't it, and learn to appear at our best in a way
that suits us? That is what I think. Now that you have learned to do
your hair so nicely, and to keep your dress neat--"

"You taught me that," said honest Peggy; "you taught me all that,
Margaret. I was a perfect pig when I came here; you know I was."

"Don't call my cousin names, miss! I cannot permit it. But if I have
taught you anything, Peggy, it is Rita who has given you the little
graces that you have been picking up. I never could have taught you to
bow,--and really, you are quite superb since the last lesson. Then,
these pretty dresses--"

"Oh, _do_ you think I ought to take them?" broke in Peggy. "Margaret, do
you think so? She brought them into my room, you know, and flung them
down in a heap, and said they were only fit for dust-cloths--you know
the way she talks, dear thing. The lovely brown crepon, she said it was
the most hideous thing she had ever seen, and that it was the deed of
an assassin to offer it to me. And when I said I couldn't take so many,
she snatched up the scissors, and was going to cut them all up--she
really was, Margaret. What could I do?"

"Nothing, dear child, except take them, I really think. It was a real
pleasure to Rita to give them to you, I am sure, and she could not
possibly wear a quarter of all the gowns she brought here. But see, here
comes our bird of paradise herself. Now we shall see something lovely!"

Rita came down the stairs, singing a little Spanish song. Her dress of
black gauze fluttered in wide breezy folds, a gauze scarf floated from
her shoulders; she was indeed a vision of beauty, and the two cousins
gazed at her with delight. Advancing into the middle of the hall, she
swept a splendid courtesy, and suddenly unfurled a huge scarlet fan.
With this, she proceeded to go through a series of astonishing
performances. She danced with it, she sang with it. She closed it, and
it was a dagger, and she swooped upon an invisible enemy, and stabbed
him to the heart; she flung it open, and it became the messenger of
love, over which her black eyes gleamed and glowed in irresistible
coquetry. All the time she kept up a dramatic chant, sometimes sinking
almost to a whisper, again rising to a shriek of joy or passion.
Suddenly she stopped.

"All this is play!" she said, turning to her rapt audience.

"Now you shall see the real thing: you shall see _Cuba libre_. But for
this I mu