She fell into their ways as easily as if she had been accustomed to them for years. A greater difference to her life in town could not be imagined; but she thoroughly enjoyed the change, and the colour returned to her cheeks. Up at seven every morning for an early bathe with Cynthia and Enid, she spent the rest of the day driving, boating, or engaging in field-sports with the boys. An enjoyable musical evening, to which all the elder members of the family contributed, usually terminated the day. Celia sang her prettiest songs; it was quite a pleasure to sing to such an appreciative little audience.
The high spirits and good humour of the Wiltons were contagious; she found herself becoming quite an adept at witty repartee. One thing she noticed: there was never a jarring note in their innocent fun. If any disagreement arose between the boys, it only needed a word from one of the elders to quell it in an instant. Unlike the Friedbergs, they were obedient to authority. In spite of their mischievous proclivities, Jack and Eric could always be prevailed upon to do what was right, not by threats of punishment or parental wrath—as had been the case with Montie and Victor—but simply for right’s own sake.
There was something about the whole family—a kind of high moral tone, as it were—which had been entirely lacking among the Friedbergs. Celia could not explain it, but she felt its force. There was a reason for it, however; it was the result of their early training. From their tenderest years they had all been taught to submit to a very high standard of right and wrong, in order to bring their lives into harmony with a life which was, to them, the very acme of perfection—a Divine Life which had been lived just nineteen hundred years ago. It was this which dispelled selfishness, and made them amenable to discipline; which gave them noble ideals, and imbued them with the love of all that was good. Their evident spirituality made a deep impression on Celia: she wanted to find out the reason of it; once again she began to think.
One morning, when the girls were promenading on the West pier, they passed a lady whose face was familiar to Celia, though she could not remember for the moment where she had seen her before. The lady smiled, and looked as if she wished to stop and speak; but Celia, not being sure of her identity, passed on. Presently she recollected that she had met her at two or three social functions, and had been introduced to her by Lord Bexley at Richmond.
By the band-stand they met her again, and this time she advanced towards Celia with outstretched hand.
“You remember me, don’t you, Miss Franks?” she said with a fascinating smile. “Mrs. Neville Williams, you know. I had the pleasure of hearing you sing so charmingly at Richmond. It is quite delightful to meet somebody one knows here. Brighton in August is so full of trippers and rich Jews—— Oh, I beg your pardon,” as Celia reddened. “I quite forgot. You are staying with friends?” with a glance at the Wiltons. “Is your brother here also?”
“No, he is in Scotland,” replied Celia, when she had introduced the girls. She wondered what made her ask after him, for to her knowledge the two had never met. “Do you know him?” she added as an afterthought.
“Just slightly. I met him some years ago, before he made his reputation as an artist. I do not think he would remember me. He is married, I suppose?”
She asked the question with apparent carelessness, but an eager light flashed into her eyes; and, on receiving an answer in the negative, an enigmatical expression, half cynical, half triumphant, passed over her face.
The band struck up one of Sousa’s most inspiriting marches, and they listened in silence for a few moments. Then Mrs. Neville Williams held out her hand.