Great was the debate which followed this unexpected apparition. Who Mrs. Fairfax was could not be discovered. Her furniture and the lay-figure had come by the waggon, and the only information the driver could give was that he was directed at the “George and Blue Boar” in Holborn to fetch them from Great Ormond Street. After much discussion it was agreed that Mrs. Bingham, the wife of the wine merchant, should call on Mrs. Fairfax and inquire the price of a gown. Mrs. Bingham was at the head of society in Langborough, and had the reputation of being very clever. It was hoped, and indeed fully expected, that she would be able to penetrate the mystery. She went, opened the door, a little bell sounded, and Mrs. Fairfax presented herself. Mrs. Bingham’s eyes fell at once upon Mrs. Fairfax’s dress. It was black, with no ornament, and constructed with an accuracy and grace which proved at once to Mrs. Bingham that its maker was mistress of her art. Mrs. Bingham, although she could not entirely desert the linendraper’s wife, whose husband was a good customer for brandy, had some of her clothes made in London when she stayed with her sister in town, and, to use her own phrase, “knew what was what.” “Mrs. Fairfax?” A bow. “Will you please tell me what a gown would cost made somewhat like that in the window?” “For yourself, madam?” “Yes.” “Pardon me; I am afraid that colour would not suit you.” Mrs. Bingham was a stout woman with a ruddy complexion. “One colour costs no more than another?” “No, madam: twelve guineas; that silk is expensive. Will you not take a seat?” “I am afraid you will find twelve guineas too much for anybody here. Have you nothing cheaper?” Mrs. Fairfax produced some patterns and fashion-plates. “I suppose the gown in the window is your own make?” “My own make and design.” “Then you are not beginning business?” “I hope I may say that I thoroughly understand it.” The door leading into the back parlour opened, and a little girl about nine or ten years old entered. “Mother, I want—” Mrs. Fairfax, without saying a word, gently led the child into the parlour again. “Dear me, what a pretty little girl! Is that yours?” “Yes, she is mine.” Mrs. Bingham noticed that Mrs. Fairfax did not wear a widow’s cap, and that she had a wedding-ring on her finger. “You will find it rather lonely here. Have you been accustomed to solitude?” “Yes. That silk, now, would suit you admirably. With less ornament it would be ten guineas.” “Thank you: I must not be so extravagant at present. May I look at something which will do for walking? You would not, I suppose, make a walking-dress for Langborough exactly as you would have made it in London?” “If you mean for walking about the roads here, it would differ slightly from one which would be suitable for London.” “Will you show me what you have usually made for town?” “This is what is worn now.”