"Not if it is ugly?" questioned Evelyn gravely.
"Not if it is ugly, surely; but I question if it often is ugly in the hands of the artists among dressmakers. It is just as unfair to judge of a fashion as it issues from the hands of a mere seamstress, as it is to judge of an air from its rendering on a barrel-organ or a penny trumpet."
Lady Munro laughed. "I shall tell my husband that," she said. "Douglas"—as he entered the room—"you have no idea of the heresies Mona has been confessing. She cares as much about new gowns and bonnets as anybody."
Sir Douglas looked at Mona very gravely. Either he had not heard the remark, or he was striving to adapt it to his mental sketch of her character.
He seated himself on the sofa beside her, and turned towards her as though he meant to exclude his wife and daughter from the conversation.
"Have you seriously taken up the study of medicine?" he asked.
"Now for it!" thought Mona.
She took for granted that he was a decided enemy of the "movement," and although at the moment she was in little humour for the old battle, she was bound to be true to her colours. So she donned her armour wearily.
"I certainly have," she said quietly.
"And you mean to practise?"