"That shows how much you men notice things," returned Dora still more scornfully, and somewhat irate at his incredulity. Garth was never very easy to convince, "Black stuff! a fine cashmere, that cost four shillings a yard if it cost a penny, and looking as if it were made by the most finished dress-maker in Carlisle, and a Leghorn hat trimmed with an ostrich feather."
Garth looked a little sheepish at this. The feather had certainly non-plussed him. It was quite true that during the last few Sundays Miss Marriott had appeared in church in a shady hat with a long drooping feather that had suited her remarkably well.
"I cannot deny the feather," he rejoined, with a rueful smile at his defeat.
The admission mollified Dora.
"And then her boots and gloves—best Paris kid, and boots that look certainly as though they were from a French maker. Ah, you cannot deceive me! Do you think such a fine lady is likely to benefit the village girls? Why, if Miss Stapleton were to mount a feather like that papa and I would be down upon her at once."
"I should not compare Miss Marriott and Miss Stapleton," a little testily. "Miss Marriott is better born and educated. She is a country vicar's daughter. I am sure that you cannot deny that she is a perfect gentlewoman."
"I do not deny that she is a very pleasant-mannered, well-looking young woman," returned Dora, in an aggravating manner, crossing her plump hands on her lap and looking up at Garth serenely. "I take a great interest in Miss Marriott, not only for her own sake, but because she is yours and Langley's protégée. When one sees a thing is wrong it is a duty to speak, and I hope I shall always do my duty," finished Dora, virtuously.
Garth was silent. He was quite used to these sort of lectures from the young mistress of Crossgill Vicarage. It had long been an admitted fact between them that her mission extended to Hepshaw. The village school-mistresses had been perpetual thorns in her side; their dress and demeanor, their teaching and morals, had always been carefully investigated. The last Hepshaw mistress had been a weak, pale-eyed creature, with no will of her own, and no particular views,—a washed-out piece of humanity, as Garth termed her,—but highly esteemed and lamented by Miss Cunningham.
Garth could not forbear a smile of secret amusement at Dora's persevering efforts to draw Miss Marriott under her yoke. The contest between the two interested and provoked him. He had taken upon himself to lecture Queenie on her stiff-necked demeanor towards Miss Cunningham, and now he was ready to take up cudgels in her defence.
"I think you are a little hard upon her," he began at last slowly, and then he stopped.