“Yes.”

“Then I think I can manage it—­if you would like it, Miss Richards—­to have you join the german this evening; will you?”

“You are very thoughtful, Miss McKenzie,” Mona replied, appreciatively, “but I should feel out of place, even if others were as kindly disposed as yourself.”

“You have had trouble—­you have lost friends,” Miss Kitty remarked, glancing at her black dress.

“Yes—­all that I had in the world,” Mona returned, with a quivering lip and a sigh that was almost a sob; for the sweet girl’s kindly interest moved her deeply.

“I am sorry,” said her companion, simply, but sincerely.  Then she continued, with heartiness:  “But let me count myself your friend after this—­will you?  I think you are very nice, and I believe it would be very easy to love you—­you poor, lonely child!” and before Mona realized her intention, she had stooped and kissed her softly on the cheek.

She did not give her any opportunity to reply, but tripped away, flushing over her own impulsive familiarity.

She looked back over her shoulder as she reached the door and added: 

“Good-by, Miss Richards; remember, you and I are to be friends; and thank you ever so much for mending my dress.”

She was gone before Mona could answer, even to tell her that she was very welcome, but her heart warmed toward the bright, genial maiden, and she stood listening, with a smile on her lips, to the sound of her little feet pattering down the stairs, and the next moment she caught her merry laugh as some one swung her lightly into her saddle.

Then Mona went down to the library, where she selected a book, and then, finding the room empty, she decided to remain where she was for a while.

Rolling a great easy-chair into a deep bay-window, she nestled, with a feeling of pleasure, in its cozy depths, and was soon deeply absorbed in the contents of her book.

She must have been reading half an hour when a slight sound in another portion of the room startled her.  Turning to see what had caused it, she saw Louis Hamblin standing between the parted portieres of an archway, and gazing upon her, a smile of triumph on his handsome face.

Mona sprang from her chair, looking the surprise she felt, for she did not suppose he was in the house.

“Do not rise, Miss Richards,” said the young man, as he came forward.  “It is really a great pleasure to find you here, but I pray that you will not allow me to disturb you.”

“I thought you had gone with the party,” the young girl said, hardly knowing how to reply to him, but deeply annoyed by his presence.

“No; I had a raging toothache all night, so had to make up my rest this morning and have but just eaten breakfast.  But sit down, Miss Richards; everybody has gone off and left me behind; I am lonely, and nothing would suit me better than a social little chat with yourself,” he concluded, with obnoxious familiarity.