Hamilton Place, Park Lane, and arranged
partly as a gymnasium--it had all the necessities--partly as a
schoolroom. It contained a magnificent dolls' house fitted up with Louis
Quinze furniture and illuminated with real electric light; a miniature
motor car in which two small people could drive themselves with
authentic petrol round and round the polished floor; a mechanical
rocking-horse; a miniature billiard-table and croquet set; a gramophone;
cricket on the hearth, roller-skates; a pianola, and countless other
luxuries.

Decorated by illustrations of fairy tales on the walls, it was
altogether a delightful room; made for all a child could want.

It is all very well to say that children are happier with mud pies and
rag dolls than with these elaborate delights. There may be something in
this theory, but when their amusements are carried to such a point of
luxurious and imaginative perfection it certainly gives them great and
even unlimited enjoyment at the time. Whether such indulgence and
realisation of youthful dreams have a good effect on the character in
later life is a different question. At any rate, to go to tea with the
Pickerings was the dream of all their young friends and gave them much
to think of and long for, while it gave to the young host and hostess
immense gratification and material pride.

"My birthday? Oh, I don't know--oh, it's on the twenty-seventh May,"
said Clifford, who was far more shy of the young lady than of her
mother.

"Fancy! Just fancy! and mine's on the twenty-eighth June! _Isn't_ it
funny!"

Cissy was surprised at almost everything. It added to her popularity.

"Not particularly."

"Oh, Clifford!"

"You must be born some time or other, I mean," he said, wriggling his
head and twisting his feet, as he did when he felt embarrassed. Miss
Pickering made him feel embarrassed because she asked so many direct
personal questions, seemed so interested and surprised at everything,
and volunteered so much private--but, it seemed to him,
unimportant--information.

"My name is Cecilia Muriel Margaret Pickering. My birthday's on the
twenty-eighth June, and Eustace's birthday is on the fifteenth February.
Isn't it funny?"

"No, not at all," said Clifford.

"His name is Eustace Henry John Pickering, after father. At least John's
after father and Henry's after grandpapa--I mean, mummy's father, you
know. Eustace is just a fancy name--a name mummy thought of. Do you like
it?"

"Not