For answer, Mrs. Friedberg walked over to a console-table and lifted up a framed photograph. “There she is,” she said, handing it to her visitor. “She is a lovely girl, as you can see, and she will be a still more lovely woman. She has a good voice too--I believe she will make her mark in a few years’ time. You will have to mind your p’s and q’s, David, I am sure of that. Celia is not an ordinary girl, by any means, and she has curious ideas about some things. She seems to have been mixed up with a regular English churchy set of people in Durlston; you would scarcely take her for a Jewess.” “Does she play solo whist?” he asked, as if that were a test. “Not she. When we sit down to our game, she goes up to her own room and plays the piano, or moons about with a book of poetry. Do you know any poetry, Dave? If not, you had better learn a few yards.” The young man made a grimace. He was not fond of poetry. “Is she that kind of girl?” he said. Mrs. Friedberg laughed. “I don’t know what ‘that kind of girl’ is like,” she answered. “But she is at home. You can come up and see her for yourself.” She led the way upstairs, and David Salmon, with some curiosity, followed. The house was unusually quiet, for the boys and Dinah were at school. On the fourth landing she paused, out of breath. “It’s like climbing up to heaven, isn’t it, Dave?” she panted. “I gave Celia a room up here, because the children make such a noise downstairs. She has her friend, Miss Wilton, with her; they study their music together. I hope they won’t mind being disturbed.” She tapped lightly at the door facing the stairs, and, receiving no answer, opened it, and stood on the threshold. The two girls were kneeling at a low table at the far side of the room. Their fair heads were bent close together, and they appeared to be absorbed. Suddenly Celia gave a sigh of relief. “Got him!” she exclaimed jubilantly. “I knew I should be able to do it if I could only get him to jump.” “So that is what you call studying,” said Mrs. Friedberg, preceding her visitor into the room. “We expected to find you both deep in the mysteries of harmony; and, instead of that, you are amusing yourselves on the floor. What on earth are you doing?” Celia rose from her knees, and came forward smoothing her skirt. “Playing tiddley-winks,” she answered promptly. “We were doing some counterpoint, but the _canto fermo_ was a regular _canto inferno_, so we have given it up for to-day.” David Salmon looked at her critically. Yes, she was undoubtedly a beautiful girl. Tall, erect, and graceful, her bearing had the effect of making him feel small and insignificant. And her hair--such wonderful hair! He wondered what its colour reminded him of; and, comically enough, could think of nothing else but Everton toffee. It was neither brown, nor auburn, nor golden; it was a blending of all three.