She did not see that a young man was standing near, watching her with a peculiar smile on his bold face.  He had observed the whole proceeding, and well understood its meaning, while, during all the time that Mona remained in the store, he followed her at a distance.  Her emotion passed after a moment, and then all her pride arose in arms.  Her eyes flashed, her lips curled, and she straightened herself haughtily.

“They are beneath me,” she murmured.  “Homeless, friendless as I am to-day, I would not exchange places with them.  I am superior to them even in my poverty, for I would not wound the humblest person in the world with such rudeness and ill-breeding.”

Yet, in spite of this womanly spirit, in spite of the contempt which she felt for such miserable pride of purse and position, she was deeply wounded and made to realize, as she never yet had done, that Mrs. Richmond Montague’s seamstress would henceforth be regarded as a very different person from Miss Mona Montague, the heiress and a petted beauty in society.

She did not care to go out shopping so much after that; but when obliged to do so she avoided as much as possible those places where she would be liable to meet old acquaintances.

She would take her airing after lunch in the quiet streets of the neighborhood, and then return to her tasks in the sewing-room.

She was not quite so lonely after a dressmaker came to do some fitting for Mrs. Montague, for the woman was kind and sociable, and, becoming interested in the beautiful sewing-girl, seemed to try to make the time pass pleasantly to her, and was a great help to her about her work.

Mona often wondered how Mrs. Montague would feel if she should know who she was.  Sometimes she was almost inclined to think that she did suspect the truth, for she often found her regarding her with a curious and intent look.  It occurred to her that the woman might possibly have known her mother, and noticed her resemblance to her, for Mr. Dinsmore had told her that she looked very much like her.

One day Mona was standing close beside her, while she tried on a fichu which she had been fixing for her to wear that evening, when the woman broke out abruptly, while she scanned her face intently: 

“For whom are you in mourning, Ruth?”

Mona did not know just how to reply to this direct question; but after an instant’s reflection she said: 

“The dearest friend I had in the world.  Do you not remember, Mrs. Montague, that I told you I was an orphan?  I am utterly friendless.”

Mrs. Montague regarded her with a peculiar look for a moment, but she did not pursue the subject, and Mona was greatly relieved.

“If she knew my mother,” she told herself, “and has discovered my resemblance to her—­if she knew Uncle Walter, and I had told her I was in mourning for him—­she would have known at once who I am.”

It was very evident that her employer was pleased with her work, for she frequently complimented her upon her neatly finished seams, while the dressmaker asserted that she had seldom had one so young to work with her who was so efficient.