Celestina looked at her father with a world of puzzle in her eyes, her
little pale face with a red spot of excitement on each cheek. But she
was not the least hurt by her father's words. She simply did not
understand them: what are called 'class distinctions' were quite unknown
to her innocent mind. Had she been alone with her mother she might have
asked for some explanation, but she was too much in awe of her father to
question him.

Her mother turned to her somewhat abruptly.

'I want some more water; the kettle, Celestina love,' she said; and as
the little girl brought it, 'I will explain to you afterwards, but don't
say any more. Father is tired,' she whispered.

And Celestina quickly forgot all about it; the sight of Eleanor and Amy
still reposing on the hearthrug as she replaced the kettle drove out of
her mind all thoughts of the possible little Misses Vane.

After tea, when the things were cleared away and Celestina had helped
her mother to make the room look neat and comfortable again, fox the
little servant in the kitchen was seldom seen in the parlour, as she
fidgeted Mr. Fairchild by her awkward clattering ways, Mrs. Fairchild
went upstairs to fetch some sewing that needed seeing to.

'I will look for a scrap or two for you,' she said to Celestina as she
went. 'But I'm not sure that you should sew any more to-night. It's
trying for your eyes.'

'And what about your sums, child?' said her father. 'Have you done all I
set you?'