er. "What a pretty
picture I could make, if I had my crayons here," thought she. "How
gracefully the glossy folds of Mamita's gray dress fall over Rosa's
crimson merino."

She was not aware that she herself made quite as charming a picture.
The spirit of laughter still flitted over her face, from eyes to
dimples; her shining black curls were lighted up with a rope of
cherry-colored chenille, hanging in a tassel at her ear; and her
graceful little figure showed to advantage in a neatly fitting dress
of soft brown merino, embroidered with cherry-colored silk. On her
lap was little Lila, dressed in white and azure, with her fine flaxen
curls tossed about by the motion of riding to "Banbury Cross." The
child laughed and clapped her hands at every caper; and if her steed
rested for a moment, she called out impatiently, "More agin, mamma!"

But mamma was thinking of the picture she wanted to make, and at last
she said: "We sha'n't get to Banbury Cross to-day, Lila Blumen; so you
must fall off your horse, darling, and nursey will take you, while I
go to fetch my crayons." She had just taken her little pet by the
hand to lead her from the room, when the door-bell rang. "That's
Mrs. Fitzgerald," said she. "I know, because she always rings an
_appoggiatura_. Rosen Blumen, take sissy to the nursery, please."

While the ladies were interchanging salutations with their visitor,
Rosa passed out of the room, leading her little sister by the hand. "I
declare," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, "that oldest daughter of yours, Mrs.
Blumenthal, bears a striking resemblance to the _cantatrice_ who was
turning everybody's head when I was in Rome. You missed hearing her, I
remember. Let me see, what was her _nomme de guerre_? I forget; but
it was something that signified a bell, because there was a peculiar
ringing in her voice. When I first saw your daughter, she reminded me
of somebody I had seen; but I never thought who it was till now. I
came to tell you some news about the fascinating Senorita; and I
suppose that brought the likeness to my mind. You know Mr. King, the
son of our rich old merchant, persuaded her to leave the stage to
marry him. They have been living in the South of France for some
years, but he has just returned to Boston. They have taken rooms at
the Revere House, while his father's house is being fitted up in grand
style for their reception. The lady will of course be a great lioness.
She is to make her first appearance at the