This lady and gentleman lived in the "great house" of the next parish. They were quiet people, who, having no children, had grown somewhat prim and precise; but they had honest and kindly hearts, and greeted their old friends, if somewhat stiffly, yet cordially. Squire and Madam Rowe, Mr. John Rowe, and Mrs. Anne Rowe, were next announced; and after a general salutation, the party sat round the fire in high-backed chairs, very stiff and uncomfortable. The table in the window held the tea-tray, and Cicely, who entered with the tea-pot, was welcomed by all parties, to whom she courtesied with "Hope I see you all well, Sirs and Madams!" Isabella, her train trailing after her, now approached the little table and poured out the tea. Cicely stood holding a waiter, on which, as each cup was filled, she carried it in turn to the person for whom it was intended. Nothing was eaten with the tea. Tea was tea in 1710, and nothing else. Mr. John Rowe, _alias_ Johnny, was a slim youth of eighteen, who had come to the party with the view of making himself agreeable to Isabella. He would scarcely have felt flattered if he had known how she regarded him. She despised him supremely, both on account of his slight juniority, and of his taste in dress. At this moment he wore yellow silk stockings, green breeches, a white waistcoat embroidered in blue, a gray silk coat heavily laced with silver, and a very large full-bottomed wig, of flaxen color, though his natural hair was almost black. As he had also dark eyes and black eyebrows, his wig certainly was not in the best taste. Isabella all but shuddered at his combination of colors as he advanced to salute her, and did not receive him by any means warmly--a calamity which he, poor innocent fellow, humbly set down to his want of personal merit, not knowing that it was caused by the deficiencies of his costume. Squire Passmore was nearly as smart as his young guest, but he was dressed with much better taste, in a dark green coat and breeches with silver lace, white waistcoat, and white silk stockings. The party sat still and sedately on their row of chairs round the fire--Mrs. Braithwaite eclipsed and silent, for Madam Passmore was on one side of her, in the yellow satin, and Madam Rowe on the other, attired in emerald green: these two ladies were talking across her. Further on was Madam Harvey in dark crimson, conversing with Mrs. Anne Rowe, who was dressed in simple white, and Henrietta, next to Squire Rowe. The younger daughters of Squire Passmore were out of the group, and so were John Rowe and Charley. As Celia crossed the room just behind the assembled elders, Madam Rowe's hand detained her. "Come and talk with me, my dear. 'Tis an age since I saw you. You don't grow any taller, child!" "I have done growing," said Celia, with a smile. "Well, so I suppose. How different you are from all your sisters, to be sure! I am sure Mrs. Bell must be a head taller than you are."