The rest of the day was of course devoted to the tableaux. The little
company had got warmed to the subject pretty well at the first meeting;
they all came together this fine afternoon with spirits in tone for
business. And Daisy, though she was tired, presently found her own
interest drawn in. She was not called upon immediately to take any
active part; she perched herself in the corner of a couch and looked on
and listened. Thither came Nora Dinwiddie, too much excited to sit down,
and stood by Daisy's elbow. They had been practising "Alfred in the
neat-herd's cottage;" Nora had been called upon to be the girl blowing
the burnt cakes; she had done it, and everybody had laughed, but the
little lady was not pleased.
"I know I look horrid!" she said to Daisy,--"puffing out my cheeks till
they are like a pair of soapbubbles!"
"But soapbubbles are not that colour," said Daisy. "Your cheeks didn't
look like soapbubbles."
"Yes, they did. They looked horrid, I know."
"But the picture is so," urged Daisy quietly. "You want to be like the
picture."
"No I don't. Not that picture. I would like to be something handsome. I
don't like that picture."
Daisy was silent, and Nora pouted.
"What are you going to be, Daisy?" said Ella Stanfield.
"I am going to be Priscilla. No, I don't know whether I am or not; but I
am going to be Fortitude, I believe."
"That's pretty," said Ella. "What else? O, you are going to be the
angel, aren't you? I wonder if that will be pretty.
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