“She should throw her head a little more back,”—­whispered Hamilton Rush to the manager;—­“her head or her shoulders.  She is not quite indignant enough.”

“That handkerchief in her hand is not right—­” said Preston in a responding whisper.  “You see to it—­while I get into disguise.”

“That handkerchief, Mrs. Sandford—­” Hamilton, said softly.

“Yes.  Frederica, your hand with the pocket-handkerchief,—­it is not quite the thing.”

“Why not?”

“You hold it like a New York lady.”

“How should I hold it?”

“Like a French queen, whose Austrian fingers may hold anything any way.”  This was Hamilton’s dictum.

“But how do I hold it?”

“You have picked it up in the middle, and shew all the flower work in the corners.”

“You hold it too daintily, Frederica,” said Theresa.  “You must grasp it—­grasp it loosely—­but as the distinguished critic who has last spoken has observed.”

Frederica dropped her handkerchief, and picked it up again exactly as she had it before.

“Try again—­” said Mrs. Sandford.  “Grasp it, as Theresa says.  Never mind how you are taking it up.”

“Must I throw it down again?”

“If you please.”

“Take it up any way but in the middle,” said Hamilton.

Down went the handkerchief on a chair, and then Frederica’s fingers took it up, delicately, and with a little shake displayed as before what Hamilton called the flowers in the corners.  It was the same thing.  They all smiled.

“She can’t hold a handkerchief any but the one way—­I don’t believe,” said her brother Alexander.

“Isn’t it right?” said Frederica.

“Perfect, I presume, for Madison Square or Fifth Avenue—­but not exactly for a revolutionary tribunal,” said Hamilton.

“What is the difference?”

“Ah, that is exactly what it is so hard to get at.  Hello!  Preston—­is it Preston?  Can’t be better, Preston.  Admirable! admirable!”

“Well, Preston, I do not know you!” said Mrs. Sandford.

Was it Preston?  Daisy could hardly believe her ears.  Her eyes certainly-told her another story.  Was it Preston? in the guise and with the face of an extremely ugly old woman—­vicious and malignant,—­who taking post near the deposed queen, peered into her face with spiteful curiosity and exultation.  Not a trace of likeness to Preston could Daisy see.  She half rose up to look at him in her astonishment.  But the voice soon declared that it was no other than her cousin.

“Come,”—­said he, while they were all shouting,—­“fall in.  You Hamilton,—­and Theresa,—­come and take your positions.”