''You''ll see we are rather out of the way of fashion, here at Briar,'' she said. ''It matters little, I suppose, since we have so few callers. My uncle only likes to see me neat. But you, of course, will be used to the great styles of London.''
I thought of Dainty''s hair, John''s dog-skin coat. ''Pretty used,'' I said.
And your last mistress,'' she went on then, ''she was quite a fine lady? She would laugh to look at me, I expect!''
She coloured still harder as she said that, and again looked from me; and again I thought, ''You pigeon!''
But what I said was, that Lady Alice—who was the mistress that Gentleman had faked up for me—was too kind to laugh at anyone,
and would anyway know that grand clothes meant nothing, since it was the person inside the clothes that ought to be judged. All in all, I thought, it was a pretty clever thing to say; and she seemed to think so too, for when I had said it she looked at me in a new way and her colour went down, and she took my hand again, saying, ''You are a good girl, Susan, I think.'' I said, ''Lady Alice always said so, miss.''
Then I remembered the character that Gentleman had written for me, and thought this might be the moment to present it. I took it from my pocket and handed it over. She rose and broke the wax, then walked to the window to hold the paper to the light. She stood a long time looking at the curling hand, and once sneaked a glance at me; and my heart beat a little fast then, to think she might have noticed something queer there. But it was not that: for I saw at last that her hand, which held the paper, trembled; and I guessed that she had no more idea what a proper character was like than I did, and was only figuring out what she should say.