There was a letter from Lady Marjorie waiting for her when she got back to Woodruffe. She was enjoying herself immensely, and Herbert was having good sport. Celia was surprised at the familiar way in which she wrote of him. The letter was full of “Herbert;” he was no longer “Mr. Karne.” Were they going to make a match of it after all, the girl wondered? She, for one, would be delighted if they did. There was also a letter from David Salmon, who was spending his holidays in the Isle of Man. He would probably run down to Brighton before the end of the month; and he hoped Celia was having a good time. Celia read the letter twice, and then absent-mindedly tore it up into little bits. Cynthia Wilton watched her in surprise. “You naughty girl!” she exclaimed. “Is that what you do with your love-letters? What would your _fiancé_ say? Look, this is where I keep my sweetheart’s letters.” She pulled one out from the inside of her blouse. “Just over my heart, you see.” “I don’t know that I have a heart,” Celia answered, half playfully, half in earnest. Then she sighed. CHAPTER VI CELIA’S AWAKENING In due course came Sunday. The boys appeared at breakfast in their best suits, with faces that seemed to have caught the reflection from their patent leather shoes, for they had received an especial Sunday shine. The little girls were attired in embroidered silk frocks, with strict injunctions not to soil them. A sense of best clothes and quiet behaviour pervaded the air; Woodruffe was enveloped by an atmosphere of Sunday. Celia was given the option of accompanying the family to church, or of going for a walk with Enid, who, with her eldest brother, had already attended the early Communion Service. She chose the former alternative, partly out of interest, partly because Ralph had been invited to preach, and she knew that Enid would like to hear him. With the exception of two weddings at Durlston, she had never attended a church service before, and hoped she would not shock the congregation by her ignorance of Church customs. She felt quite uncomfortable when they arrived within hearing of the deep-toned bells and in sight of the pointed spire. She almost wished she had not come. But this feeling was quite dispelled when they came within the precincts of the sacred edifice, and a strain of organ music fell upon their ears. It was an air from Mendelssohn’s _Elijah_--“If with all your hearts,” and because it was familiar to her, Celia felt less strange.