"Every subject has to do with me that touches on questions of right and wrong," she returned with dignity. "I consider Miss Marriott's general style of dress and appearance is perfectly unsuitable to a village school-mistress, and sets the worst possible example to the grown-up girls in Hepshaw." "This is perfectly incomprehensible," he replied, secretly exasperated by the turn the conversation was taking, and rather resenting this undeserved attack on his _protégée_. "Langley and I are always praising Miss Marriott's quiet, unobtrusive style." "One knows what to expect of a gentleman when there is a pretty face in question," retorted Dora, with a touch of scorn in her voice. "Not that I call Miss Marriott pretty. She has such singular eyes, and then I never admire a brown skin. But I must own I thought better things of Langley." "I am completely at sea," returned Garth, lifting his eyebrows in comical perplexity. That little speech of Dora's about Miss Marriott's eyes and brown skin amused him. Could she be jealous of the young stranger he had taken under his brotherly protection? Garth's elbow rested still more comfortably on the back of her chair as this little bit of self-flattery intruded itself. "I always see Miss Marriott in a plain black stuff gown, with just a bit of white lace or frilling round her throat. I don't see how any one could dress more plainly." "That shows how much you men notice things," returned Dora still more scornfully, and somewhat irate at his incredulity. Garth was never very easy to convince, "Black stuff! a fine cashmere, that cost four shillings a yard if it cost a penny, and looking as if it were made by the most finished dress-maker in Carlisle, and a Leghorn hat trimmed with an ostrich feather." Garth looked a little sheepish at this. The feather had certainly non-plussed him. It was quite true that during the last few Sundays Miss Marriott had appeared in church in a shady hat with a long drooping feather that had suited her remarkably well. "I cannot deny the feather," he rejoined, with a rueful smile at his defeat. The admission mollified Dora. "And then her boots and gloves--best Paris kid, and boots that look certainly as though they were from a French maker. Ah, you cannot deceive me! Do you think such a fine lady is likely to benefit the village girls? Why, if Miss Stapleton were to mount a feather like that papa and I would be down upon her at once." "I should not compare Miss Marriott and Miss Stapleton," a little testily. "Miss Marriott is better born and educated. She is a country vicar's daughter. I am sure that you cannot deny that she is a perfect gentlewoman."