Letitia was, however, much more civil to Ernest now. There may be many subtle reasons for such sudden changes of demeanour. Major Cavendish-Diggle was perhaps not remotely connected with Letitia’s. He was Ernest’s bosom friend; what if he presently developed into a friend and admirer of her own? Letitia was not exactly ill-favored, but she was certainly not a beauty in the strict sense of the term. Dark complexioned and thin lipped, but with a nose too sharp, and cheek bones too high, her face was not strikingly attractive to say the least of it; and the fact was being gradually borne in upon her, as she grew on in years, by the slackness with which suitors sought her hand. Major Cavendish-Diggle was one of the first who showed better taste. Why should not men admire her? She had a neat well-proportioned figure. Her eyes were good, of the deep brown piercing order; her dark hair was abundant and rich. She was a good talker, had all the accomplishments of a well-educated young lady, and a large share of that indescribable air of good breeding, of that perfect ease in manner and thorough _savoir faire_, which are only to be seen in women of good station--all of which Diggle felt would be extremely becoming in a colonel’s or general officer’s wife. If the thin lips and fierce eyes foretold a vixenish temper when thwarted, or if the world went wrong with her, these were bad points still in embryo, little likely to deter so matter of fact a wooer as Diggle from prosecuting his suit. Not that he precipitated matters. He could see, with half an eye, that Miss Farrington accepted his attentions cheerfully enough; but he was very doubtful whether her parents would look upon him with equal favour. Indeed, Sir Rupert had more than once spoken in a way to damp Diggle’s hopes. The baronet held his head high. He evidently knew what was due to himself. Having passed his early years as a struggling solicitor, barely able to keep the wolf from his door, he was now very eloquent about _mésalliances_, and the proper maintenance of distinctions of class. The major’s heart misgave him, for reasons best known to himself, when he heard Sir Rupert inveighing against the annoyance of upstart tradesmen, who, on the strength of fortunes amassed by not too reputable business (so he said), aped the manners of their betters, and tried to push themselves forward into the front rank of society. This very visit to Farrington Hall, a crusty old county magnate to whom Diggle had been formally introduced, had remarked rather pointedly upon the major’s name. ‘Diggle, Diggle, I know the name. To be sure. Get my tea from Diggle’s. Devilish good tea too--no connection, major, eh?’ At which Major Cavendish-Diggle inwardly shuddered, although he replied promptly enough. ‘Come and taste our champagne at Triggertown, Mr. Burkinshaw; it’s far better than the best tea in the world.’ Whereby the inconvenient question was for the moment satisfactorily shelved.