But Mrs. Mitford interrupted her with a little scream.
"You want to be an oddity," she said, "an eccentric horror. Don't come to me and expect my approbation if you are anything of that sort."
Just at that moment the room door was opened, and who should come in but Mr. Mitford. His wife gave a start when she saw him.
"I found I could get away earlier than I expected," was his remark. "I fancied Chris would be with you, and I thought we could have a talk. You both look very charming."
Christian sat close to her mother.
"What a contrast you both are!—you so dark and piquant, and Christian so tall and fair and blonde. You are very like your grandmother, Chris, and she was a very beautiful and noble woman."
Mrs. Mitford sighed. The color deepened in her cheeks.
"I believe," she said, with a laugh, "that Christian will resemble her grandmother in more ways than one. You know what an eccentric woman she was."
"She was a very good woman, you mean," said Mr. Mitford.
"Yes, Patrick; but eccentric—very eccentric. Do you remember when she insisted on giving up her own dinner to send it to the invalid who lived on the other side of the street? It was ridiculous of her."