The child, who appeared to be about six years old, was charmingly dressed, and exemplarily good during the service. As for her elders, they were almost aggravatingly devout, scarcely raising their eyes from their prayer-books, and never glancing about at their neighbours, not even at Sir Anthony Pendered, who looked at the two more than he had ever been known to look at any other women. This was saying a good deal, because he was by no means a misanthrope, although he was forty and had contrived to remain a bachelor. It was rumoured that he wished to marry, if he could find a wife to suit him, though meanwhile he was content enough with the society of his sister, who was far from encouraging any matrimonial aspirations. When Marian and Joan and Minnie were driven back to Roseneath Park (in the perfect victoria and by the splendid horses which advertised the solid bank balance they did not possess), the two "elder sisters" talked over their impressions. Minnie played with a French doll, that somewhat resembled herself in her new white frock, with her quantities of yellow hair. Marian, leaning back on a cushioned sofa, waiting for the luncheon-gong to sound, was prettier and more distinguished-looking than she had ever been; while Joan, as Mercy Milton, would scarcely have been recognised by those who knew her best. Marian’s maiden name had really been Milton, and "Mercy" had been selected to fit the picture for which Joan had chosen to sit. Her beautiful, gold-brown hair was parted meekly in the middle and brought down over the ears, finishing with a simple coil in the nape of her white neck. She was dressed as plainly as a young nun, and had the air of qualifying for a saint. "Well, dear, what did you think of him?" she inquired of Marian. "Of whom?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, blushing. "Oh, if you are going to be innocent! Well, then, of the distinguished being whose name and qualifications I showed you in the _Mayfair Budget_ a few days after I got back to England and you. The _eligible parti_, in fact, whose residence near Toragel is responsible for our choice of abode." "Joan! _Don’t_ put it like that!" "’Mercy,’ if you please, not Joan. And I’ve found out exactly what I wanted to know. Your reception of my brutal frankness has shown me that you like him. So far, so good." "I may like him, but that won’t help your plan. Oh, Jo--Mercy, I mean, I do feel such a wretch! That man looks so honest and frank and nice, and he could hardly take his eyes off you in church. If he knew what frauds we are!" "You are not a fraud, and it is you with whom he is concerned, or it will be, as I’ll soon show him, if necessary. Your name _is_ Fitzpatrick; you are a widow; we are sisters--in affection. You haven’t a fib to tell; you’ve only got to be charming." "But it’s you he admires. I told you it would be so. If one of us is to be Lady----" "’Sh!" said Joan; and the gong boomed musically for lunch.