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Christian sat very upright; she did not speak.

"Well," said her mother, "does my list of accomplishments appeal to you? Do you want to be all that your mother could desire?"

"You leave out some things," said Christian—"the story part—all about history and the lovely, lovely things that happened long ago. I don't want just to be——"

"Just to be what, dear?"

"I can't explain myself; but when I think—oh, mumsy! I will tell you. You mustn't be angry with me, but I don't want to be a brilliant, accomplished girl; I want to be a heroine."

"You silly, silly child! A heroine! What do you mean?"

"I want to be the sort of girl who would do great things—who would——"

But Mrs. Mitford interrupted her with a little scream.

"You want to be an oddity," she said, "an eccentric horror. Don't come to me and expect my approbation if you are anything of that sort."

Just at that moment the room door was opened, and who should come in but Mr. Mitford. His wife gave a start when she saw him.

"I found I could get away earlier than I expected," was his remark. "I fancied Chris would be with you, and I thought we could have a talk. You both look very charming."