Mona drew her graceful form to its full height, while her red lips curled scornfully.

“Thank you, but it might be considered in bad taste for one in Mr. Hamblin’s position to be found chatting socially with his aunt’s seamstress, whom he is not supposed to know,” she said, a note of sarcasm in her tone.

The young man laughed out lightly.

“Ah! you resent it because I did not recognize you the day we came to Hazeldean,” he returned; “but you will forgive me, I know, when I tell you that I avoided betraying the fact of our previous acquaintance simply for your own good.  I feared it might make you conspicuous if I saluted you, as I wished to do, and my aunt is very particular about the proprieties of life.”

Mona smiled proudly.  She failed to perceive how a courteous recognition could have made her conspicuous or violated in any way the most rigid laws of etiquette.

“In that case we will continue to observe the proprieties of life upon all occasions,” she dryly remarked.

He read her thoughts, and was keenly stung by her words.

“Forgive me,” he said, with an assumption of regret and humility, thinking thus the better to gain his end; “had I realized that you would have been so wounded I should have acted very differently.  I assure you I will never offend you in the same way again.”

“Pray do not be troubled,” Mona coldly retorted.  “I had no thought of resenting anything which you might consider proper to do.  If I thought of the matter at all, it was only in connection with the generally accepted principles of courtesy and good-breeding.”

Mr. Hamblin flushed hotly at this keen shaft, but he ignored it, and changed the subject.

“I am sorry to have interrupted you in your reading, Miss Richards.  What have you that is interesting?”

“Victor Hugo’s ‘Les Miserables,’” Mona briefly replied.

“Have you?” the young man eagerly demanded, “I was searching for that book only yesterday.  May I look at it one moment?  McArthur and I had quite a discussion upon a point regarding Father Madelaine, and we were unable to settle it because we could not find the book.”

Mona quietly passed the volume to him; but a blank look overspread his face as he took it.

“Why, it is the original!” he exclaimed, “and I do not read French readily.  Are you familiar with it?”

“Oh, yes,” and Mona smiled slightly.

She had been accounted the finest French scholar in her class.

Mr. Hamblin regarded her wonderingly.

“Where did you learn French to be able to read it at sight?” he inquired.

“At school.”

“But—­I thought—­” he began, and stopped confused.

“You thought that a common seamstress must necessarily be ignorant, as well as poor,” Mona supplemented:  “that she would not be likely to have opportunities or ambition for self-improvement.  Well, Mr. Hamblin, perhaps some girls in such a position would not, but I honestly believe that there is many a poor girl, who has had to make her own way in life, who is better educated than many of the so-called society belles of to-day.”