"Yes, Father, she does; she understands the case, and she's always trying to make Delight less selfish."
"And perhaps,—I hate to suggest it,—but possibly Miss Mopsy Maynard might have some little tiny speck of a fault,—just a microscopic flaw in her character—"
"Now, Father, don't tease! I know I have! I'm a bad, impulsive, mischievous old thing, and I never think in time,—then the first thing I know I've done something awful! Delight's not a bit like that."
"Oh, you needn't give yourself such a dreadful character. I know you pretty well, and I'm quite pleased, on the whole, with my eldest daughter. But I do want you to learn to be a little less heedless; you know heedlessness is, after all, a sort of selfishness,—a disregard of others' convenience."
"I'm going to try, Father. I'll try real hard, and if I don't succeed,
I'll try, try again."
"That's my good little Mopsy. Now, skip to bed, and don't let these serious matters keep you awake. Forget them, and dream of fairies and princesses dressed in pearls and roses and all sorts of lovely things."
"And blue velvet robes trimmed with ermine?"
"Yes, and golden sceptres, and swanboats to ride in on lakes where pond lilies bloom."
"And golden chariots, with milk white steeds, garlanded with flowers."
"Yes,—and that's about all; good-night."