And thanks to that pliancy of her race, which Miss Manisty had discovered, although she was shy in these new trappings, she was not awkward. She was assimilating her new frocks, as she had already assimilated so many other things, during her weeks at the villa—points of manner, of speech, of mental perspective. Unconsciously she copied Mrs. Burgoyne's movements and voice; she was learning to understand Manisty's paradoxes, and Aunt Pattie's small weaknesses. She was less raw, evidently; yet not less individual. Her provincialisms were dropping away; her character, perhaps, was only emerging.
'Are you pleased with it?' she said timidly, as Mrs. Burgoyne bade her come in, and she advanced towards that lady, who was putting on her own hat before the glass.
Eleanor, with uplifted arms, turned and smiled.—
'Charming! You do one credit!—Is Aunt Pattie better?'
Lucy was conscious of a momentary chill. Mrs. Burgoyne had been so kind and friendly during the whole planning and making of this dress, the girl, perhaps, had inevitably expected a keener interest in its completion.
She answered in some discomfort:—
'I am afraid Miss Manisty's not coming. I saw Benson just now. Her headache is still so bad.'
'Ah!'—said Eleanor, absently, rummaging among her gloves; 'this scirocco weather doesn't suit her.'
Lucy fidgetted a little as she stood by the dressing-table, took up one knick-knack after another and put it down. At last she said—
'Do you mind my asking you a question?'