“We must go, of course,” responded the lady, in a somewhat weary tone, “for Mrs. McKenzie would be offended if we should remain away, though I am really too tired after the Ashton ball last evening to go out again; besides, I do not like to wear a dress that isn’t properly finished; but I shall have to, for the girls cannot possibly do all that needs to be done.”

“You are too particular, Aunt Marg.  What if every seam isn’t bound just as you like it?  Your general make-up is always superb.  By the way, who was that girl in black who just came in and went up stairs?” the young man concluded, as if it had only just occurred to him to inquire regarding her.

“Oh, that was Ruth Richards, my seamstress; she had just been out on an errand,” Mrs. Montague indifferently returned as they passed into the drawing-room.

“Ruth Richards?  Pretty name, isn’t it?” her companion remarked, “and the girl herself is a stunner—­one does not often meet so lovely a seamstress.”

Mrs. Montague turned upon him sharply.

“Nonsense, Louis,” she said, impatiently; “don’t allow your head to be turned by every pretty face that you see.  There are plenty of fine-looking girls in our own set, without wasting your admiration upon a poor sewing-girl.”

“I never should have imagined that she was a sewing-girl,” Mr. Hamblin returned.  “I supposed her to be some aristocratic young lady of your acquaintance, who had come for a social call.  She carries herself like a young queen; her form is simply perfect, and her face!—­well, were I an artist I should love to paint it,” he concluded, with unusual enthusiasm.

Mrs. Montague shrugged her graceful shoulders, and curled her red lips scornfully.

“What would Kitty McKenzie say if she could hear you run on like this about a girl who has to work for her living?” she sneered.

“Kitty McKenzie cannot hold a candle to Ruth Richards.  Dress her as Kitty rigs herself out and all New York would be raving about her,” the young man replied.

“Louis Hamblin, I am all out of patience with you!  Kitty would feel highly complimented with your opinion of her charms,” cried his aunt, angrily.  “But let me tell you,” she added, resolutely, “I shall not countenance any fooling with that young lady; you have shown her very marked attention, and she has a right to expect that you have serious intentions.  You know that I should be only too glad to have you marry Kitty; she is a sweet girl, to say nothing about her beauty, while the McKenzies are all that could be desired, both as to wealth and position; and the day that Kitty becomes your wife I will match her dowry as a wedding-gift to you.”

“Thank you; I know that you are all that is kind and good in your plans for me, Aunt Margie,” Louis responded, in a conciliatory tone, “and you need not fear that I am rashly going to throw Kitty over; we are the best of friends, although not acknowledged lovers.  I cannot quite make up my mind to propose, for, really, I do not feel like tying myself down just yet.”