Not that Herminia had not at times hard struggles and sore
temptations. One of the hardest and sorest came when Dolly was
about six years old. And this was the manner of it.

One day the child who was to reform the world was returning from
some errand on which her mother had sent her, when her attention was
attracted by a very fine carriage, stopping at a door not far from
their lodgings. Now Dolly had always a particular weakness for
everything "grand;" and so grand a turn-out as this one was rare in
their neighborhood. She paused and stared hard at it. "Whose is it,
Mrs. Biggs?" she asked awe-struck of the friendly charwoman, who
happened to pass at the moment,--the charwoman who frequently came
in to do a day's cleaning at her mother's lodging-house. Mrs. Biggs
knew it well; "It's Sir Anthony Merrick's," she answered in that
peculiarly hushed voice with which the English poor always utter the
names of the titled classes. And so in fact it was; for the famous
gout doctor had lately been knighted for his eminent services in
saving a royal duke from the worst effects of his own
self-indulgence. Dolly put one fat finger to her lip, and elevated
her eyebrows, and looked grave at once. Sir Anthony Merrick! What a
very grand gentleman he must be indeed, and how nice it must seem to
be able to drive in so distinguished a vehicle with a liveried
footman.