The portrait was that of a man in middle life, handsomely dressed in black velvet, with hat and ruff. His face was sad, but the bright, dark eyes looked intelligently at the girls, and the whole face had a familiar look.
"He has a look of Papa," said Margaret softly; "it is a weaker face, but there is a strong resemblance."
"I think he looks like John Strong," said Peggy decidedly.
"My dear Peggy," said Rita, "I must pray that you will take less notice of our uncle's gardener. What does it matter to you how he looks? I ask you. Now that you are my sister I must teach you to forget this habit of speaking to servants as if they were your equals. I overheard you the other day conversing—absolutely conversing—with this man. Dear child, it is wholly unsuitable. I tell you, and I know."
Margaret, who loved peace almost too well, was tempted to let this pass, but her conscience shouted at her, and she spoke.
"I am sorry to have you regard John Strong as an ignorant or inferior person, Rita," she said gently, knowing that she seemed priggish, but encouraged by Peggy's confused and abashed look.
"I think that if you were to talk with him a little yourself, you would feel differently. He is a very superior man, and Uncle John has the highest opinion of him; Aunt Faith has told me so."
Rita shrugged her shoulders. "Really, très chère," she said, "this is a case in which it is not necessary, believe me, to go back a hundred years. We hear about the manners of the vieille école; my faith, the school may become too old!"
"Rita!" cried Margaret indignantly. "How can you?"
Rita only shrugged her shoulders; her eyes shone with the very spirit of wilfulness.