He was so engrossed with these thoughts that he did not notice the click of the latch as a lady opened the French window from without, and only when he heard the rustle of silken skirts was he made aware of her presence. She was a very daintily clad little woman, with a bright face and vivacious manner. Her blue eyes sparkled with kindliness, and her small mouth betokened a keen sense of humour. Lady Marjorie Stonor may have possessed a great many faults, but her worst enemy could not have accused her of being dull. She was in the habit of dropping in at the Towers when she knew that she would find the artist at work, and although she disturbed him seriously with her light chatter, Herbert could not but be glad to see her, for she had helped him a good deal with his work amongst the factory people, and was one of Celia’s greatest friends. He rose to greet her, and she established herself comfortably in a low wicker chair. She had come, she said, firstly to bring him an order from the county hospital for one of the factory men, and secondly to discuss Celia’s future. She was anxious to know if Mr. Karne were aware that all the Durlston people were anticipating Celia’s engagement to Dr. Geoffrey Milnes! Mr. Karne was not aware of it; he was most astonished; he had never dreamt of such a thing. He turned round and confronted his interlocutor with a look of consternation. How on earth could such a rumour have got about? Lady Marjorie gave vent to a rippling laugh of amusement. “Oh, you men!” she exclaimed. “You are as blind as bats, and have no more perception than a rhinoceros! You have allowed Celia to see Geoffrey Milnes constantly, to ride with him, drive with him, and sing with him. He is a nice young fellow, and she is a beautiful girl, and yet you are surprised that they should fall in love with each other. Do you mean to say, seriously, that you have never thought of such a contingency, Mr. Karne?” “Indeed, I have not,” he answered with contracted brows. “I am very grieved indeed, if such is the case, for nothing but trouble can come of it; but I think and hope that you are mistaken, Lady Marjorie. If I had had the faintest idea of such a thing, I should have put a stop to their intimacy long ago.” “But why?” she asked eagerly. “He is only a country doctor, it is true, and has no brilliant prospects, but if they really love each other----” “You forget that Celia is a Jewess,” he interposed gravely, “and that Dr. Milnes is the son of a Christian clergyman. Do you think that, much as the vicar likes Celia, he would approve of his son’s marriage with one whom he terms an unbeliever? And even should he approve, I should not do so, for I think most emphatically that mixed marriages are a mistake.”