"Really! How clever you must be! Oh, of course, in the old days I've made dresses myself; but they were always sights. Yes; you must be very clever; you have good taste, evidently. I've got a maid who's a perfect fool; perhaps, sometimes, you won't mind giving her a hint or lending her a hand?"
"Why, I should be very pleased to do so," said Celia; "though I'm afraid she will not consider my advice or assistance of any great value, Lady Heyton."
"How nicely you said that!" said Miriam, again looking up at Celia, curiously. She possessed intelligence enough to discern, at the first glance, that Celia was not the common, ordinary type of girl she had expected to see; but the repose of Celia's attitude, the timbre of her voice, were making their due impression. "But, of course, you would speak nicely, having to do with books and all that sort of thing. Do you like the Marquess?" she asked, slipping off to another subject, with her usual irrelevance. "He is very stern and grim; and I must confess I'm almost afraid of him. He is quite different from Percy; they're scarcely like father and son—I mean my husband, of course."
"I don't think the Marquess is very stern or hard," said Celia, musingly. "I have only spoken to him once, but he seemed very kind," she added, with a certain hesitation; for she remembered that he had been somewhat stern in the matter of the portrait.
"Oh, I dare say it's only his manner," said Lady Heyton; "and I suppose I'm not a favoured person. You see, he was opposed to our marriage: poor parson's daughter, you know."
Celia coloured with embarrassment; it seemed to her that this beautiful young woman was without reserve, and that her remark had been in very bad taste; but Celia was always ready to make allowances and look on the best side of people, so she said, gently:
"I dare say you will grow to like him. He is sure to like you."
"Think so?" said Miriam. "Well, I hope he will; he ought to like his daughter-in-law; and I mean to make him, if I can. I want to keep the peace between him and Percy; they haven't been the best of friends, as I dare say you've heard. Did you cut that dress from a paper pattern, or how?"
"You've guessed correctly," said Celia, laughing. "It was cut from a paper pattern, given away with a popular magazine."
"Well, it fits awfully well. And there's a style about it; it's quite chic. Oh, you really must give a hint or two to that idiot of a Marie. What society is there here? I thought, as we drove from the station, that the place looked awfully dull and quiet. By the way," she went on, without waiting for her question to be answered, "didn't I see you standing at one of the cottages as we drove past?"