rything," she said at length. "Look at Anne. She's
beautiful and rich and everybody admires her, and she goes about to big
country-houses and meets famous and interesting people. And now this Sir
Richard Leigh comes like the prince into the story, and I dare say he
will fall in love with her and if she finds no one that suits her better
she will marry him and have that grand old historic name."

"Sally, dear," I said, "you're not envying Anne, are you?"

A quick blush rushed to her face. "Cousin Mary! What foolishness I've
been talking! How could I! What must you think of me! I didn't mean
it--please believe I didn't. I'm the luckiest girl on earth, and I'm
having the most perfect time, and you are a fairy godmother to me,
except that you're more like a younger sister. I was thinking aloud.
Anne is such a brilliant being compared to me, that the thought of her
discourages me sometimes. It was just Cinderella admiring the princess,
you know."

"Cinderella got the prince," I said, smiling.

"I don't want the prince," said Sally, "even if I could get him. I
wouldn't marry an Englishman. I don't care about a title. To be a
Virginian is enough title for me. It was just his name, magnificent Sir
Richard Grenville's name and the Revenge-Armada atmosphere that took my
fancy. I don't know if Anne would care for that part," she added,
doubtfully.

"I'm sure Anne would know nothing about it," I answered decidedly, and
Sally went on cheerfully.

"She's very welcome to the modern Sir Richard, yacht and title and all.
I don't believe he's as attractive as your sailor, Cousin Mary.
Something the same style, I should say from the description. If you
hadn't owned him from the start, I'd rather like that man to be my
sailor, Cousin Mary--he's so everything that a gentleman is supposed to
be. How did he learn that manner--why, it would flatter you if he let
the boom whack you on the head. Too bad he's only a common sailor--such
a prince gone wrong!"

I looked at her talking along softly, leaning back on one hand and
gazing at the fire, a small white Turkish slipper--Southern girls always
have little feet--stuck out to the blaze, and something in the leisurely
attitude and low, unhurried voice, something, too, in the reminiscent
crackle of the burning wood, invited me to confidence. I went to my
dressing-table, and when I came back, dropped, as if I were another
girl, on the rug beside her. "I want to show you this," I said, and
o