Margot grew tall and graceful for her age; Dorothy was small and very slim. Things went on well both at the school and at the établissement, until one day Dorothy Duncan invited her most favoured friend to lunch in the château of mon oncle.
"Is it very, very French?" asked little Margot.
"Oh, no, not any more than anything else here," said Dorothy. "You will enjoy it and you must come. As for me, I am overcome with raptures. My eldest sister—she is just seventeen—has come to us all the way from Rome. She will soon he likely to meet someone whom she can marry. She will be absorbed in getting her trousseau, partly from Paris and partly from that great établissement here, kept by Madame Marcelle!" Margot felt herself colouring slightly.
"What is your sister like to look at, Dorothy?" she asked.
"Behold, understand!" exclaimed Dorothy, putting on all the French manners she could acquire. "I think that some day I shall be beautiful but not like Hébé. Hébé is almost as beautiful as you, ma petite Comtesse, only of course she is very much older. They say that the establishment of Ninon Lecoles cannot be beaten even in Paris, that city of all the delights. She has sold it now to Madame Marcelle. Ah, but my sister will make a grand marriage and l'oncle Gustave will give her a dot worthy of her."
"I am to have a dot, too," said little Margot, "but, behold, I care not for it! It is—it is less than of no use at all. What I want is to have my heart brimful of love."
"Eh, but you are a darling," said Lady Dorothy. "I know you will love my sister."
"I am sure I shall," said little Margot. "Go on, describe her to me, Dorothy."