Mr. Rosevelt rang the bell, and then took a card from one of his pockets, and, with an arch smile, said:
“It almost seems as if we were really fine people, doesn’t it, dressed in our best, riding about in our carriage, and sending our cards in at a brown-stone house?”
“Yes, indeed; and it would be such fun if we could keep it up for awhile,” Star said, gayly. “But,” with a regretful little sigh, “like Cinderella of old, I suppose we shall soon be aroused to the fact that our coach and horses are gone, and find the stern realities of life staring us in the face again.”
Mr. Rosevelt laughed.
“Would you like to be a fine lady, Star?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered, thoughtfully. “I believe I should like to try it for a little while, just to see how it would seem.”
There was not time for any more conversation, for the door was at this moment opened by a neat-looking servant.
She appeared to recognize Mr. Rosevelt, for she greeted him with a smile, and then her eyes wandered inquiringly to Star’s lovely face.
She invited them to enter, and conducted them into a handsome drawing-room on the right of the hall, when, taking Mr. Rosevelt’s card, she retired, leaving them alone.
“What a lovely room!” Star breathed, as her eyes roved about the apartment, over the beautiful pictures, the bright, rich carpet, the carved ebony furniture, upholstered in warm-hued satins, choice bric-a-brac, and all those fine things which add so much to a place like that. “Your friend must be a ‘fine lady,’ with plenty of money,” she added.