At the supper-table little Miss Crewe was a prominent feature. At her end of the table conversation flourished and cheerfulness reigned. Even Euphemia and young Mr. Jessup, who had come down together in a mutual agony of embarrassment, began to pluck up spirit and hazard occasional remarks, and finally even joined in the laughter at Dolly's witticism. People lower down the table glanced up across the various dishes, and envied the group who seemed to set the general heaviness and discontent at defiance. Dolly, accompanied by coffee and cakes, was more at home and more delightful than ever, so delightful, indeed, that Ralph Gowan began to regard even Lady Augusta with gratitude, since it was to her he was, to some extent, indebted for his new acquaintance. “She is a delightful--yes, a delightful girl!” exclaimed young Mr. Jessup, confidentially addressing-Euphemia, and blushing vividly at his own boldness. “I never heard such a laugh as she has in my life. It is actually exhilarating. It quite raises one's spirits,” with mild _naïveté_. Euphemia began to brighten at once. She could talk about Dolly Crewe if she could talk about nothing else. “Oh, but you have n't seen _anything_ of her yet,” she said, in a burst of enthusiasm. “If you could only see her every day, as I do, and hear the witty things she says, and see how self-possessed she is, when other people would be perfectly miserable with confusion, there would be no wonder at your saying you never saw anybody like her. _I_ never did, I am sure. And then, you know, somehow or other, she always looks so well in everything she wears,--even in the shabbiest things, and her things are nearly always shabby enough, for they are dreadfully poor. She is always finding new ways of wearing things or new ways of doing her hair or--or something. It is the way her dresses fit, I think. Oh, dear, how I do wish the dressmaker could make mine fit as hers do! Just look at that white merino, now, for instance. It is the plainest dress in the room, and there is not a bit of fuss or trimming about it, and yet see how soft the folds look and how it hangs,--the train, you know. It reminds me of a picture,--one of those pictures in fashionable monthlies,--illustrations of love stories, you know.” “It is a very pretty dress,” said young Mr. Jessup, eying it with great interest. “What did you say the stuff was called?” “Merino,” answered Phemie. “Merino,” repeated Mr. Jessup. “I will try and remember. I should like my sister Lucinda Maria to have a dress like it.” And he regarded it with growing admiration just tempered by the effect of a mental picture of Lucinda Maria, who was bony and of remarkable proportions, attired in its soft and flowing counterpart, with white swan's-down adorning her bare shoulders. “May I ask,” said Miss MacDowlas, at the bottom of the table, to Lady Augusta,--“may I ask who that young lady with the fresh completion is,--the young lady in white at the other end?”