“Ought I to have put on my best things—­my new silk?” she asked.

My new silk!  My best things!  Lady Verner was almost at a loss for an answer.  “You have not an extensive wardrobe, possibly, my dear?”

“Not very,” replied Lucy.  “This was my best dress, until I had my new silk.  Mrs. Cust told me to put this one on for dinner to-day, and she said if Lady—­if you and Miss Verner dressed very much, I could change it for the silk to-morrow.  It is a beautiful dress,” Lucy added, looking ingenuously at Lady Verner, “a pearl gray.  Then I have my morning dresses, and then my white for dancing.  Mrs. Cust said that anything you found deficient in my wardrobe it would be better for you to supply, than for her, as you would be the best judge of what I should require.”

“Mrs. Cust does not pay much attention to dress, probably,” observed Lady Verner coldly.  “She is a clergyman’s wife.  It is sad taste when people neglect themselves, whatever may be the duties of their station.”

“But Mrs. Cust does not neglect herself,” spoke up Lucy, a surprised look upon her face.  “She is always dressed nicely—­not fine, you know.  Mrs. Cust says that the lower classes have become so fine nowadays, that nearly the only way you may know a lady, until she speaks, is by her quiet simplicity.”

“My dear, Mrs. Cust should say elegant simplicity,” corrected Lady Verner.  “She ought to know.  She is of good family.”

Lucy humbly acquiesced.  She feared she herself must be too “quiet” to satisfy Lady Verner.  “Will you be so kind, then, as to get me what you please?” she asked.

“My daughter will see to all these things, Lucy,” replied Lady Verner.  “She is not young like you, and she is remarkably steady, and experienced.”

“She does not look old,” said Lucy, in her open candour.  “She is very pretty.”

“She is turned five-and-twenty.  Have you seen her?”

“I have been with her ever so long.  We were talking about India.  She remembers my dear mamma; and, do you know”—­her bright expression fading to sadness—­“I can scarcely remember her!  I should have stayed with Decima—­may I call her Decima?” broke off Lucy, with a faltering tongue, as if she had done wrong.

“Certainly you may.”

“I should have stayed with Decima until now, talking about mamma, but a gentleman came in.”

“A gentleman?” echoed Lady Verner.

“Yes.  Some one tall and very thin.  Decima called him Jan.  After that, I went to my room again.  I could not find it at first,” she added, with a pleasant little laugh.  “I looked into two; but neither was mine, for I could not see the boxes.  Then I changed my dress, and came down.”

“I hope you had my maid to assist you,” quickly remarked Lady Verner.

“Some one assisted me.  When I had my dress on, ready to be fastened, I looked out to see if I could find any one to do it, and I did.  A servant was at the end of the corridor, by the window.”