"A Wareborough dressmaker!" exclaimed Gertrude, lifting her eyebrows. "My dear Eugenia, you must excuse me, but I don't think that sort of thing will please Beauchamp. He is so _very_ particular." "I know he is," replied Eugenia, quietly, "and therefore I always study to please him. He likes all the dresses I have, and no one can be more particular than I am about their fitting well. The person I speak of made this one," touching the pretty lavender dress she was wearing, "and the one I had on last night. Don't you think they fit well?" "I really have not particularly observed," said Gertrude, less cordially. "I dare say they do, but fitting is not everything." "Certainly not," said Eugenia, "and of course I know a Wareborough dressmaker cannot make things as fashionably as a London one. But Sydney and I have taken pains to get this person to make our things in the way we like, and I do not care about being _too_ fashionable. I don't think it is good taste." Mrs Eyrecourt smiled, but her smile was not a very pleasant one, and she did not repeat her offer. She was far from thinking it worth her while to enter into any discussion with this very daring young person on even so trifling a subject as dress; but in her own mind she resolved to give her brother a hint as to the expediency of at once and for ever separating his wife from the influences of her former home. "She is pretty enough to do very well if she had more manner and experience," Mrs Eyrecourt allowed, with the impartiality on which she prided herself. "But she is really incredibly ignorant, and less docile than I expected. Ah, Beauchamp, you have made a sad mistake!"