"No, she is not lovely now. To my mind, she is more taking."
"Really, dear!" both sisters exclaimed.
Mrs. Major was turning down a narrow hem, in some useful work for Bee; and she paused to complete it.
"Much more," she said. "Patricia's prettiness was all outside—mere shape and colouring. Something else has come now. There is a great difference—but not all for the worse."
"Ah! Something of spirit-beauty, perhaps," murmured Miss Wryatt.
"You might call it that. A very pleasant look. Her expression in old days spoilt her—it was so self-centred."
"And now—it is otherwise?"
"Yes. The fact is, Bee was the saving of her. No one else could do anything. She seemed hopeless and broken, with no interest left in life; and she would see nobody—not even Mr. Miles."
"That delightful Mr. Miles! We are so pleased that he can come. And Bee did—what, dear?"
A slight moisture might be seen in Mrs. Major's small keen dark eyes.