"But that is very kind of you, Cecile. I'm sure I am awfully obliged," said Mildred warmly. She leant up against the corner of the dressing-table and watched the play of the nimble fingers with admiring eyes. "How quickly you do it, and how well! It would take me about a month to pleat the lace into those teeny little folds. I just run it up and draw the string, but of course it is far nicer this way. The old dress looks quite new again. It seems to enjoy being washed." Cecile held the skirt at arm's-length, looking at it with critical eyes. "It is a pretty colour--soft and full--just the right shade to suit Mademoiselle's complexion. When it has the sash and the lace collar it will have an air quite _chic_, but it could still be improved. If Mademoiselle will, I shall stiffen the sleeves and make them more--what you say?--fashionable! It would be much better so." "I don't know, I'm sure. It would be very nice, but have you time, Cecile?" asked Mildred doubtfully. "You have work to do for Lady Sarah, and I should not like to interfere with that. It is very kind of you to offer, but--" "Oh, indeed, I have hours to myself--hours! I am killed with ennui in this quiet house. It would be a charity to give me occupation. It is still quite early; if Mademoiselle would put the dress on now, for one little minute, I could then see what is required, and put in a stitch here and there." Mildred unfastened her dress with mechanical fingers. She was bewildered by this sudden display of amiability on the part of Lady Sarah's maid, and filled with remorse for her former misjudgments. She had taken a dislike to Cecile from the moment when they had first met in the corridor and the Frenchwoman's sharp eye had scanned her from head to foot, as if taking in every detail of her attire and appraising its value. Once or twice, moreover, upon entering Bertha's room unexpectedly, she had discovered Cecile turning over the ornaments upon the dressing-table, and had not felt altogether inclined to believe the explanation that she was looking to see if there was anything she could do for mademoiselle; yet if Cecile were now so anxious to serve herself, why should she not have been equally well-disposed to Bertha? Mildred argued out this question with herself as she stood before the glass while Cecile's clever fingers busied themselves about her dress, putting in a pin here, a pin there, achieving thereby an improvement which seemed almost miraculous in the girl's unsophisticated eyes. While she worked Cecile kept up a string of flattering remarks.