‘Lady Maria sings. She has had lessons from an Italian master; I saw a little drawing of him that is in her workbox. What could Miss Raeburn do that you thought her so wonderful?’ persisted Agneta. Crauford knit his brows. Cecilia’s general mastery of life was difficult to explain, nor, indeed, did he quite understand it himself. ‘She is so--so ladylike,’ he said. ‘Why do you always say that? Miss Raeburn was only a companion; now Lady Maria has a title.’ People were much more outwardly snobbish in those days than they are now that the disease has become internal; at present, it would scarcely be possible to make such a speech and survive it. ‘You know nothing about it. Miss Raeburn was Lady Eliza’s relation and she called her her niece. And why do you say “was”? She is not dead.’ ‘I don’t know; I suppose, because we need not trouble about her any more. Do tell me what she was like, Crauford, I have so often wanted to know. Do, do, dear Crauford!’ ‘If I tell you a great many things, will you promise to keep them entirely to yourself?’ he enquired, in an access of gracious elder brotherhood. He longed for a confidant. ‘Oh, yes! yes!’ cried Agneta, running her arm through his, ‘I will not even tell Mary.’ ‘I think she has seen the folly of her refusal,’ said he, gravely. ‘I saw her a few weeks ago; in fact, I renewed my offer, but she said she could not listen to me so soon after her aunt’s death. I am going back next January and I have reason to suppose, in fact, Barc---- I am almost sure she will accept me then. I trust you will receive her kindly, Agneta. I shall look to you.’ Between gratification at his words and apprehension for the future his sister was almost struck dumb. ‘What will Mama say?’ she exclaimed when she found her tongue. ‘I am afraid it does not much matter what Mama says,’ replied Crauford, with playful intrepidity. He knew very well that he would not be at Fordyce to hear. But there was no use in meeting troubles half-way and Agneta was dying to know more. ‘Is she tall, brother?’ ‘Rather tall,’ he replied. ‘She has a beautiful figure--very slender.’ ‘As thin as Lady Maria?’ ‘Good gracious, no!’ exclaimed Crauford. ‘And what is her hair like, dark or fair?’ ‘Rather dark, but not black.’ ‘And her eyes?’ ‘Remarkable eyes--in fact, rather too extraordinary. Not quite usual.’ ‘She does not squint?’ cried Agneta, seized with horror. ‘Should I wish for a wife who squinted?’ asked he, rather huffily. ‘No, no, of course not; don’t be angry, Crauford. Why do you not like her eyes?’ ‘Oh, I do like them; only I wish they were more like other people’s, wider open and bluer; you will see her for yourself, Agneta. There was another man who wanted to marry her not long ago, a sulky-looking fellow called Speid; but she soon sent him away and he has gone off to Spain.’ ‘Because of her? Did he really?’ exclaimed Agneta, taking a long breath as she recognised the desperate matters life could contain.