"And she's not at all 'stuck-up,'" went on Mr. Maynard; "she's rather shy, and though she wants to get acquainted with you children, she's afraid you won't like her. I didn't tell Mr. Spencer that you had decided already not to like her."
"I like her name," said Marjorie, "but I don't like her because she lives in Gladys's house, and she isn't Gladys!"
"So that's where the shoe pinches!" said Mr. Maynard, laughing at Marjorie's troubled face. "A foolish resentment because strangers are in your friend's home. Why, dearie, Mr. Fulton was most anxious to rent the house, and he'll be glad to have such good tenants. And, by the way, Midge, don't say anything more unpleasant about the little Spencer girl. You've said enough."
"I won't, Father," said Midget, with an honest glance from her big, dark eyes into his own, for truth to tell, she felt a little ashamed of her foolish criticisms already.
"Delight!" she said, musingly as she and Kitty were preparing for bed that night. "Isn't it a dear name, Kit? What does it make you think of?"
"A princess," said Kitty, whose imagination Was always in fine working order; "one who always wears light blue velvet robes, and eats off of gold dishes."
"Yes," agreed Marjorie, falling in with the game, "and she has white doves fluttering about, and black slaves to bow before her."
"No, not black slaves; they're for princesses named Ermengarde or Fantasmagoria." Kitty was not always particular about any authority for names, if they sounded well. "A princess named Delight would have handmaidens,—fair-haired ones, with soft trailing white robes."
"Kit, you're a wonder," said Marjorie, staring at her younger sister; "how do you know such things?"
"They come to me," said Kitty, mystically.