"Good, pure, true, and strong," she settled; "and," as a sudden conviction struck her, "she is beautiful, like her mother was ten years ago. Dressed"—her thoughts following along the same way as Charity's—"well, she would be a success. She is wasted on Mr. Warde. Shall I interfere?"
She was so deep in thought, working out a sudden plan, that she did not notice when Marjorie ceased playing.
Marjorie, glancing at her, asked softly—
"Was that too sad? Shall I try something else?"
But in a moment the Duchess rose briskly, and put her hand kindly on Marjorie's shoulder.
"No, my dear. I shouldn't like that spoiled by anything else. Mr. Warde is right. You have a gift. But a girl like you should not be sad or—or perplexed. Forgive an old woman. Is something troubling you?"
Marjorie looked up into the keen eyes above her.
"Not troubling," she hesitated, "only things are sometimes perplexing."
As she spoke her eyes travelled to the window, through which came the sound of low-voiced chatter and delicate laughter. The older woman, looking at the girl, saw a sudden arrested look come into her eyes and, following their direction, was again puzzled. Charity, standing by Mrs. Bethune's chair, was smiling up into Mr. Pelham's face. She had the manner of one who is pleased, and who wishes to please, and her pretty daintiness of pose and dress was very attractive. Mr. Pelham's whole attention, as he conversed, was given to her. In his courteous attitude were expressed, in the eyes of the two lookers-on, both deference and admiration.
"That girl has grown very pretty," the Duchess said, "and Mr. Pelham seems to think so. He is quite an acquisition here, though I am amused to hear you sniffed at him at first."