“What do you mean?” asked Ada, and Lucy continued: 

“You have sense enough to know that when a man of St. Leon’s standing shows any preference for a girl in your circumstances it can be from no good design.”

“You judge him wrongfully—­you do not know him,” said Ada; and Lucy answered: 

“Pray, where did you learn so much about him?”

Ada only answered by rising to go.

“Here, this way,” said Lucy, and leading her through an enter passage to the back door, she added, “I do it to save your good name.  St. Leon is undoubtedly waiting for you, and I would not trust my own sister with him, were she a poor sewing girl!”

The door was shut in Ada’s face, and Lucy returned to the parlor, where she found her father entertaining her visitor.  Seating herself on a crimson ottoman, she prepared to do the agreeable, when St. Leon, rising, said, “Excuse my short call, for I must be going.  Where have you left Miss Harcourt?”

“I left her at the door,” answered Lucy, “and she is probably halfway to ‘Dirt Alley’ by this time, so do not be in haste.”

But he was in haste, for when he looked on the fast-gathering darkness without, and thought of the by streets and lonely alleys through which Ada must pass on her way home, he felt uneasy, and biding Miss Dayton good night, he hurried away.

Meantime, Ada had procured the articles she wished for, and proceeded home, with a heart which would have been light as a bird had not the remembrance of Lucy’s insulting language rung in her ears.  Mrs. Harcourt saw that all was not right, but she forbore making any inquiries until supper was over.  Then Ada, bringing a stool to her mother’s side, and laying her head on her lap, told everything which had transpired between herself, St. Leon, and Lucy.

Scarcely was her story finished when there was a rap at the door, and St. Leon himself entered the room.  He had failed in overtaking Ada, and anxious to know of her safe return, had determined to call.  The recognition between himself and Mrs. Harcourt was mutual, but for reasons of their own, neither chose to make it apparent, and Ada introduced him to her mother as she would have done any stranger.  St. Leon possessed in an unusual degree the art of making himself agreeable, and in the animated conversation which ensued Mrs. Harcourt forgot that she was poor—­forgot her aching eyes; while Ada forgot everything save that St, Leon was present, and that she was again listening to his voice, which charmed her now even more than in the olden time.

During the evening St. Leon managed in various ways to draw Ada out on all the prominent topics of the day, and he felt pleased to find that amid all her poverty she did not neglect the cultivation of her mind.  A part of each day was devoted to study, which Mrs. Harcourt, who was a fine scholar, superintended.

It was fast merging toward the hour when phantoms walk abroad ere St. Leon remembered that he must go.  As he was leaving he said to Ada, “I have a niece, Jenny, about your age, whom I think you would like very much.”