"It is too bad," Mr Montague repeated. "But I will see what I can do, and she must call at the office to be examined as to her capabilities. `Maryon,' an uncommon name. There are some rich people--a very old family--Maryons down in Brakeshire." "Ah, she can't belong to them, poor girl," said Hertha. And then, feeling she had done her duty, she and Mr Montague turned to other things. CHAPTER FIVE. MISAPPREHENSION AND MISGIVING. Lady Campion's drawing-room continued to fill--to fill and to empty--for as some went out, others came in. And everywhere and at all moments, Hertha Norreys was surrounded and eagerly greeted. "It is wonderful how much she is made of," thought Winifred from her corner. "Not, of course, that she does not deserve it, but I have so often been told that the best people are not the most appreciated by the common herd." The expression would scarcely have been deemed appropriate. If there was one thing Lady Campion prided herself on, it was that her "habitues" formed a very _un_common herd indeed. _Her_ lions and lionesses must be well dressed and charming--perfectly well-bred and unexceptionable. And as Winifred heard the names--now and then mentioned to her in passing by her good-natured hostess, or by some of the friends she introduced the girl to, with the excuse that she was "a perfect stranger, never been in London before"--of men and women she had hitherto reverenced from afar, she began to allow to herself that if she had known it was to be so much of a party, she would have dressed better. "Though I never imagined people like `so-and-so' cared about dressing at all," she added to herself. The rooms were thinning--indeed they had never been what to more experienced eyes would have seemed very full, when Mrs Balderson-- followed by Celia, Eric bringing up the rear--came in. "What a lovely girl!" said a voice beside Winifred; and turning with quick pleasure, she saw that the speaker was Miss Norreys's Mr Montague. And close beside him, though Winifred had not been aware of her proximity, stood Hertha herself. "Yes, indeed," she replied, warmly. "She is like a beautiful lily." Celia was better--at least more becomingly--dressed than her sister, and her taller, more graceful figure showed whatever she wore to advantage. Mrs Balderson had reviewed her before they went out, and Winifred had taken her usual interest in Celia's appearance, attiring herself, later in the afternoon, with her customary indifference to everything but neatness. A flush of gratification rose to her face at the words she overheard, and moving forward so as to approach Hertha a little more nearly, she said in a low voice: "I am so glad you admire her: she is my sister, my younger sister."