(“And let it be a lesson to you, my dear,” she said to Miss Popple afterwards. “And when you see a customer come in with that kind of an air about her, put it up to her at once. What was the set marked at, Miss Popple, dear? Eighteen? You don’t say? Well, let that be a lesson to you.”) “And do you want nothing for Miss?” enquired the astute milliner, turning with a kind smile to the plain girl. “I’ve a positive sweet of a Tuscan straw with cornflowers, and a blue muslin. It would suit Miss to a charm. Very reasonable.” Lady Amelia, one stout foot poised for departure--she had a high aristocratic action suited to her nose--paused. “Cheap? did you say?” she questioned. “Miss Popple, the blue muslin and the assorted _chapeau_.” Lady Amelia gazed through her eyeglass and Pamela rejoiced to see that she hesitated. Colour and sparkle had risen to the plain Miss Vibart’s cheeks, and the flash of joy brought out all kinds of beauties; dimples, and tiny smile waves, and an archness in the curve of that too wide mouth over milk white teeth. “_Chapeau_ and _robe_,” she said emphatically, “for you, my Lady, since your Ladyship has already so generously patronised us, and not to disappoint the young lady, eight guineas. Pray Miss, let my Lady see you in the hat.” Her hands lifted to her country straw, Sarah Vibart paused, looked at her mother, and the light died out of her eyes. “Jane, you will want another gown,” muttered Lady Amelia. “And blue was always your colour.” “O Mamma,” said Jane, with a smile of joy that made her for the moment quite exasperatingly lovely. It was that smile that settled her in Miss Pounce’s opinion. “Of all the mean, unnatural girls! ’Tis a shame, I call it, a shame!” thought she. If her business conscience would have allowed her, she would have placed the Tuscan on the beauty’s head, and contrived to give the curls a good tweak as she did so. But as it was, she masked her feelings by handing the garments to her underling, loftily commanding: “You carry on with the order, Miss Popple. Regretting Madam, I have an appointment,” and sweeping majestically away. As she did so, she in her turn dropped a pocket handkerchief, quite a dainty little article with an embroidered P. and a delicate edge of lace, smelling too of the lavender with which the Kentish mother kept her elegant town daughter liberally supplied. The plain Miss Vibart made a plunge and picked it up. “Good God, Sarah!” cried Lady Amelia, the exclamation jerked out of her by a proceeding so very unbecoming. “Thank you, Miss,” said Pamela, looking into the candid green eyes, that refused to acknowledge the rising tears. “I hope some day I’ll have the dressing of you, and ’twill be a pleasure and privilege.”