“Ah!  Miss Emily, you know not your friend; I am more anxious than ever to go, and care not if you are sorry.”

“I am glad now of my unexpected speech,” I replied, “and feel as if I had really been to the confessional; your mother is so sensitive, I could not tell her, and I have kept this thought constantly before me, ’He will not stay if he goes, and I am sure he cannot eat rye bread and butter.’”

“You will see, Miss Emily, how I shall eat it, but we are to be interrupted; here comes the soulless girl that shocked you so; mother is with her; excuse me for a moment,” and he made his way to a corner of the parlors, seating himself alone as if in reverie.

“Mademoiselle Emily, my friend, Miss Lear, desires an introduction to you; be seated, Miss Lear,” and Clara took the chair on the other side; the disappointment of Miss Lear, in not finding Louis, was visible, even to my unpractised eye, and her tender enquiries of his mother regarding his health etc., were amusing.

I saw her furtive glances at my plain toilette, and knew she thought me a lowly wild flower on life’s great meadow, a dandelion, unnecessary to be included in a fashionable nosegay, and while these thoughts were passing through my mind, Clara left us to ourselves, and, feeling in duty bound to say something to me, she began: 

“Mrs. Desmonde tells me your house is in the country; how sublime the country is!  You see sunrises and sunsets, do you not?”

“I hope I do,” I replied.  “There is great pleasure in watching nature.”

“Oh! the country is so sublime, don’t you think so?”

“Well that depends on your ideas of the sublime; I do not imagine milking cows and butter-making would correspond with the general ideas of sublimity.”

“Oh!” and she tossed her befrizzled head in lofty disdain, “that is perfectly horrid, I cannot see how human beings endure such things; oh! dear, what a poor hand I should be at living under such circumstances.”

“You would perhaps enjoy the general housework more, leaving the problem of the dairy to another.”

“Housework?—­I—­ah!  I see you are unlearned—­beg your pardon—­in society ways.  Do my hands betray symptoms of housework?” and she laughed ironically.

At this moment Louis came to take the seat his mother had left, and heard of course my reply to Miss Lear’s last remark.

“Yes, I know I am verdant in the extreme, and must plead guilty also to the charge of milking, churning and housework; I take, however, some pride in trying to do all these things well, and I believe the most fastidious can partake of the creamy butter rolls, we make at home.”

“Bravo,” exclaimed Louis, “pray tell me what elicited Miss Emily’s speech?”

“We were talking of the country,” I replied, growing bold; “Miss Lear thinks the country is sublime, but the butter-making, etc., horrid.”

“Well,” said Miss Lear, “it may be my ideas are rather crude, but really I cannot imagine I could ever make butter!  Do you think I could, Mr. Desmonde?” leaning forward to catch Louis’ eye, and plying her flashy fan with renewed energy and great care to show the ring of emeralds and diamonds that glistened on her right fore-finger.