e corrected herself.

Celia shook her head.

"No, no," she said. "I think it is very kind of you to speak to me so
nicely, to be so good to me, before you know I'm worth it. I am sure
that we shall--like each other, and that I shall be very happy here."

"I hope so. I'll do all I can," said Mrs. Dexter, evidently moved by
Celia's warm response. "Now I'll send you up some tea, and if you're not
tired I will show you the house when you have rested."

In a very short time a maid, neatly dressed in black alpaca, with cap
with white strings, brought up the tea. Celia noticed that the salver
and the service were of silver. It was a very luxurious tea; the maid
was respectful, but pleasantly sympathetic. Said she:

"Shall I put away your things after tea, miss, or now at once? I am to
wait on you."

"Oh, that's very nice," said Celia. "You will not have much trouble, at
any rate, with my things," she added, with a laugh. "For I have very
few."

"Yes, miss," said the maid. "Fashions change so soon, don't they?"

It was beautifully done, and Celia laughed again, appreciatively. The
place had seemed to her a kind of Paradise, and certainly it was
inhabited, judging by the specimens she had seen, by persons of angelic
amiability. She was so excited that she could scarcely drink her tea,
and when Mrs. Dexter reappeared, she sprang up all eagerness. For half
an an hour she went from room to room, almost speechless with admiration
and a delighted awe. It was her first experience of a house of the size
and grandeur of Thexford Hall, and almost at every step she took she was
trying to realize that she was actually going to live there. And to be
paid L150 per annum for doing so!

"Now I'll show you the library," said Mrs. Dexter. "Naturally, that will
interest you more than anything else, though our state-rooms are
considered to be very fine. Indeed, the drawing-room, with the Inigo
chimneypieces, is said to be unique. This is the library."

She opened a thick mahogany door, and as Celia crossed the threshold an
exclamation of ecstatic delight escaped her lips. And not without cause;
for the Thexford library is a famous one. Celia was not unduly impressed
by the number of the books, though the collection is by no means a small
one, for she had spent weeks and months at the British Museum Reading
Room; but the subdued splendour of the room, its vaulted roof, its ebony
bookcases, enriched by Wedgwood plaques, the great fireplac