Mrs. Moggridge had also remarked that Miss Strange was "very easy in her
manners." This was not always the case with ladies in Coalchester, and
Mrs. Moggridge did not mean the remark as an unreserved compliment. She
liked a certain stiffness in strangers. It was not, however, in Isabel
Strange's nature to oblige her in that particular. Her way of pouring
her grace into Mrs. Moggridge's great arm-chair suggested at once that
she had lived there for ever so long, and to him particularly she
chatted as with an old acquaintance. You could not make a stranger of
her. She ate some cold fowl which presently appeared, entirely without
embarrassment, though two Miss Moggridges sat like dummies and
watched her.

"That's an interesting face!" she said presently, pointing to a
conspicuous portrait of a young man on the mantelpiece.

"That's Mr. Londonderry," said Mr. Moggridge.

"O! _that's_ Mr. Londonderry, is it?" she said. "H'm,... I hadn't
expected him to be so young."

"Yes! He's a wonderful young man for his position," said Mr. Moggridge,
started on what was now his favourite topic. "He'll be a great man some
day, will Mr. Londonderry."

Isabel looked up at Mr. Moggridge with added interest. Such a genuine
interest in great men as his voice betokened was a surprise in him.

Then Mr. Moggridge proceeded to narrate the history of New Zion, told of
its former desolation, his lucky advertisement, and its present
prosperity.