The stranger was a tall, commanding woman, with great stateliness of carriage, and much languor of manner. She had evidently been very handsome, but was now just past her prime. Her eyes and hair were dark, her voice low and languishing. Altogether it struck Celia that she was very like what Isabella would be in a few years, allowing for the differences in color. She took the chair to which the Squire led her, and addressed herself to Madam Passmore. There was a little peculiarity of distinctness in her pronunciation. "You wonder to see me, Madam," she began. "Madam, I am honored by your Ladyship's visit." "I am the widow of Sir Edward Ingram, who held a commission under His Majesty King James. I come to speak with you on business." "With _me_?" asked Madam Passmore, a little surprised. "You are Madam Passmore, of Ashcliffe Hall?--Yes." "Pray continue, Madam." "Your daughters, Madam?" inquired the visitor, with a languid wave of her hand towards the young ladies. "Yes; does your Ladyship wish to see me without them?" "Not at all--oh! not at all. Which is Mademoiselle Celia?" "The woman's French!" exclaimed the Squire, under his breath. Celia's blood rushed to her face and neck, and then ebbed, leaving her white and faint, as she rose and came slowly forward. "Is this my mother?" she was asking herself, in a mental tumult. "Ah! that is you? Stand a little farther, if you please. I wish to look at you." "No; this is not my mother!" said Celia, to her own heart. "Not by the half so tall as I should like--quite _petite_!" said Lady Ingram, scanning Celia with a depreciatory air. "And so brown! You cannot bridle--you have no complexion. Eh! _ma foi!_ what an English-looking girl!" The Squire had almost arrived at the end of his patience. Madam Passmore said quietly, "I ask your Ladyship's pardon, but perhaps you will tell me why you make these remarks on my daughter?" "I beg yours," said Lady Ingram, languidly. "I thought I had told you. She is a foundling?--Exactly. _Et bien_, she is my daughter--that is, my husband's daughter." "Thank Heaven, not yours!" growled the Squire, heard only by Isabella. "My husband was married twice," pursued the visitor, unconscious of his rising anger. "His first wife was an Englishwoman--short, I suppose, and brown, like this girl. I am the second wife, _née_ Mademoiselle de La Croix, daughter of Monsieur the Marquis de La Croix. _Tu peux m'embrasser ma fille_." Celia would have obeyed somewhat reluctantly, had she understood her step-mother. She stood still, unaware that she had been addressed at all, since she had never learned the language in which Lady Ingram had spoken to her. "Well, you will not?" "I beg your pardon, Madam," answered Celia, speaking for the first time, and in a very tremulous voice. "I did not understand what you said." "You speak French?" "No, Madam."