"Come and sit in the window-seat with me," Sara went on, "and I 'll whisper a story to you."
"Will you?" whimpered Lottie. "Will you—tell me—about the diamond-mines?"
"The diamond-mines?" broke out Lavinia. "Nasty, little spoiled thing, I should like to slap her!"
Sara got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered that she had been very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille, and she had had to recall several things rapidly when she realized that she must go and take care of her adopted child. She was not an angel, and she was not fond of Lavinia.
"Well," she said, with some fire, "I should like to slap you,—but I don't want to slap you!" restraining herself.
"At least I both want to slap you—and I should like to slap you,—but I wont slap you. We are not little gutter children. We are both old enough to know better."
Here was Lavinia's opportunity.
"Ah, yes, your royal highness," she said. "We are princesses, I believe. At least one of us is. The school ought to be very fashionable now Miss Minchin has a princess for a pupil."
Sara started toward her. She looked as if she were going to box her ears. Perhaps she was. Her trick of pretending things was the joy of her life. She never spoke of it to girls she was not fond of. Her new "pretend" about being a princess was very near to her heart, and she was shy and sensitive about it. She had meant it to be rather a secret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all
