"You've guessed correctly," said Celia, laughing. "It was cut from a paper pattern, given away with a popular magazine." "Well, it fits awfully well. And there's a style about it; it's quite _chic_. Oh, you really must give a hint or two to that idiot of a Marie. What society is there here? I thought, as we drove from the station, that the place looked awfully dull and quiet. By the way," she went on, without waiting for her question to be answered, "didn't I see you standing at one of the cottages as we drove past?" "Yes," said Celia. "I had been calling on a friend." "A friend," repeated Lady Heyton, raising her brows, languidly. "Do you mean the woman with the baby? I thought she looked quite a common, ordinary sort of person." "I should scarcely call Susie common," said Celia, with a smile. "I like her very much." "Do you? How quaint! This fire is very jolly. Do you always have one here?" asked her ladyship, as if her volatile mind had forgotten the last subject of the conversation. Celia told her that the fire was lit every evening, and Lady Heyton, rising with a yawn, remarked that she should often drop in for a warm; the rest of the house seemed to her chilly. Celia gave the required invitation, and Lady Heyton stood looking about her vacantly, and as if she were waiting for the volition to go. "I say; do tell me your name?" she said, languidly. Celia told her. "Awfully pretty name. Mine's Miriam; ridiculously unsuitable, don't you think? So hard and cold; and I'm anything but that. Pity one can't choose one's own name! Do you mind if I call you 'Celia'? 'Miss Grant' is so stiff." "Oh, not at all," said Celia. "Thanks very much. What's that?" she asked, starting, her hand going to her bosom, her brows coming together nervously. The sound of voices, not in actual altercation, but something very near it, came from the hall. "It's the Marquess and Percy," said Miriam, in a low and frightened voice. "Oh, I do hope they're not quarrelling. I warned Percy. Hush! Listen!" She stole to the door and opened it slightly, and Celia heard the Marquess say: "I have promised. The money shall be paid; but I warn you, Percy, there must be an end to this wicked and foolish extravagance. I say there must be an end to it. I do not want to threaten you, but----" "Threaten!" came the younger man's voice, which was almost insolent and rather thick, as if he had been drinking too much wine. "No, I don't suppose you do. After all, I've got to live. I'm your son----" "Do not hesitate," said the Marquess. "You would add, my heir. I do not forget it. But do not count too much on the fact. I say to you, do not count too much on it. Percy!" His tone changed to a pleading one. "For Heaven's sake, take heed to what I say. Do not try me too much. There are reasons----" His voice broke and ceased; with a glance at Celia and a shrug, Lady Heyton opened the door widely, and went into the hall.