She thought privately that never was such a darling as Maria.

She looked at the softly flushed little face, with its topknot of gold, the delicate fairness of the neck, and slender arms, and she had a rapture of something more than possession.

The beauty of the child irradiated her very soul, the beauty and the goodness, for Maria never disobeyed but she was sorry afterwards, and somehow glorified faults seem lovelier than cold virtues.

"Well, run up-stairs to bed," said she.

"Be careful of your lamp." When Maria was in her own room she set the lamp on the dresser and gazed upon her face reflected in the mirror.