“You know that I have not a cent in the world except what Mrs. Murray gives me.  I shall have to make my bread by my own work just as soon as you think me competent to teach; and notwithstanding, she thinks I ought to visit and associate as she does with these people, who tolerate me now, simply because they know that while I am under her roof she will exact it of them.  To-night, during the dance, I heard two of her fashionable friends criticising and sneering at me; ridiculing her for ’attempting to smuggle that spoiled creature of unknown parentage and doubtless low origin into really first circles.’  Other things were said which I can not repeat, that showed me plainly how I am regarded here, and I will not remain in a position which subjects me to such remarks.  Mrs. Murray thought it best for me to come; but it was a mistaken kindness.  I thought so before I came—­now I have irrefragable proof that I was right in my forebodings.”

“Can you not tell me all that was said?”

“I shrink, sir, from repeating it, even to you.”

“Did Mr. Leigh hear it?”

“I hope not.”

“My dear child, I am very much pained to learn that you have been so cruelly wounded; but do not let your mind dwell upon it; those weak, heartless, giddy people are to be pitied, are beneath your notice.  Try to fix your thoughts on nobler themes, and waste no reflection on the idle words of those poor gilded moths of fashion and folly, who are incapable of realizing their own degraded and deplorable condition.”

“I do not care particularly what they think of me, but I am anxious to avoid hearing their comments upon me, and therefore I am determined to keep as much out of sight as possible.  I shall try to do my duty in all things, and poverty is no stigma, thank God!  My grandfather was very poor, but he was noble and honest, and as courteous as a nobleman; and I honor his dear, dear memory as tenderly as if he had been reared in a palace.  I am not ashamed of my parentage, for my father was as honest and industrious as he was poor, and my mother was as gentle and good as she was beautiful.”

There was no faltering in the sweet voice, and no bitterness poisoning it.  Mr. Hammond could not see the face, but the tone indexed all, and he was satisfied.

“I am glad, my dear little Edna, that you look at the truth so bravely, and give no more importance to the gossip than your future peace of mind demands.  If you have any difficulty in convincing Mrs. Murray of the correctness of your views, let me know, and I will speak to her on the subject.  Good-night!  May God watch over and bless you!”

When the orphan reentered the parlor, Mrs. Inge presented her to several gentlemen who had requested an introduction; and though her heart was heavy, and her cheeks burned painfully, she exerted herself, and danced and talked constantly until Mrs. Murray announced herself ready to depart.