“Not at all; you must be amenable to authority.  Miss Stanfield, like everybody else.”

“But what will you put on her, Mrs. Sandford?  The dress is Portia.”

“No, by no means; you must look with a very delicate expression, Miss Theresa.  Your face will be the picture.”

“My face will depend on my dress, I know.  What will it be, Mrs. Sandford?”

“I will give you a very heavy and rich purple brocade.”

“Jewels?”

“Of course.  Mrs. Randolph lets us have whatever we want.”

“That will do!” said Theresa, clapping her hands softly.  “I am made up.  What are you going to do with Frederica?”

“She has a great part.  She must be Marie Antoinette going from the revolutionary tribunal.”

“De la Roche’s picture!” said Theresa.

“She’s not dressed at all”—­remarked Frederica coldly looking at the engraving.

“Marie Antoinette needed no dress, you know,” Theresa answered.

“But she isn’t handsome there.”

“You will be standing for her,” said Mrs. Sandford.  “The attitude is very striking, in its proud, indignant impassiveness.  You will do that well.  I must dress your hair carefully, but you have just the right hair and plenty of it.”

“Don’t she flatter her!” whispered Theresa to Preston;—­then aloud, “How will you make up the rest of the tableau, Preston?”

“I am going to be that old cross-eyed woman—­Alexander will be one of the guards—­George Linwood another, I think.  Hamilton Rush must shake his fist at the queen over my head; and Theresa, you must be this nice little French girl, looking at her unfortunate sovereign with weeping eyes.  Can you get a tear on your cheek?”

“Might take an uncommon strong spoonful of mustard—­” said Theresa—­“I suppose that would do it.  But you are not going to let the spectators come so near as to see drops of tears, I hope?”

“No matter—­your eyes and whole expression would be affected by the mustard; it would tell, even at a distance.”

When they got through laughing, some one asked, “What is Daisy to be?”

“O, she is to be Priscilla here—­I thought nobody but Daisy would care about being a Puritan; but it is her chosen character.”

“It’ll be a pretty tableau,” said Theresa.

“And what am I to be, Preston?” said Nora.

“You are to be several things.  You and Ella must be the two young princes in the tower.”

“What tower?” said Nora.

There was another general laugh, and then Daisy, who was well at home in English history, pulled her little friend aside to whisper to her the story and shew her the picture.

“What are those men going to do?” said Nora.

“They are going to kill the little princes.  They have got a featherbed or something there, and they are going to smother them while they are asleep.”

“But I don’t want the featherbed on top of me!” said Nora.