“And take them all in all,” added Mrs. Lemmington with warmth, “you will find nothing common about them.  Look at their dress; see how perfect in neatness, in adaptation of colors and arrangement to complexion and shape, is every thing about them.  Perhaps there will not be found a single young lady in the room, besides them, whose dress does not show something not in keeping with good taste.  Take their manners.  Are they not graceful, gentle, and yet full of nature’s own expression.  In a word, is there any thing about them that is ‘common?’”

“Nothing that my eye has detected,” replied Mrs. Florence.

“Except their origin,” half-sneeringly rejoined Mrs. Marygold.

“They were born of woman,” was the grave remark.  “Can any of us boast a higher origin?”

“There are various ranks among women,” Mrs. Marygold said, firmly.

“True.  But, ’The rank is but the guinea’s stamp, The man’s the gold for a’ that.’

“Mere position in society does not make any of us more or less a true woman.  I could name you over a dozen or more in my circle of acquaintance, who move in what is called the highest rank; who, in all that truly constitutes a woman, are incomparably below Mrs. Clayton; who, if thrown with her among perfect strangers, would be instantly eclipsed.  Come then, Mrs. Marygold, lay aside all these false standards, and estimate woman more justly.  Let me, to begin, introduce both yourself and Melinda to the young ladies this evening.  You will be charmed with them, I know, and equally charmed with their mother when you know her.”

“No, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Marygold, drawing herself up with a dignified air.  “I have no wish to cultivate their acquaintance, or the acquaintance of any persons in their station.  I am surprised that Mrs. Harwood has not had more consideration for her friends than to compel them to come in contact with such people.”

No reply was made to this; and the next remark of Mrs. Florence was about some matter of general interest.

“Henry Florence has not been here for a week,” said Mrs. Marygold to her daughter Melinda, some two months after the period at which the conversation just noted occurred.

“No; and he used to come almost every evening,” was Melinda’s reply, made in a tone that expressed disappointment.

“I wonder what can be the reason?” Mrs. Marygold said, half aloud, half to herself, but with evident feelings of concern.  The reason of her concern and Melinda’s disappointment arose from the fact that both had felt pretty sure of securing Henry Florence as a member of the Marygold family—­such connection, from his standing in society, being especially desirable.

At the very time the young man was thus alluded to by Mrs. Marygold and her daughter, he sat conversing with his mother upon a subject that seemed, from the expression of his countenance, to be of much interest to him.

“So you do not feel inclined to favor any preference on my part towards Miss Marygold?” he said, looking steadily into his mother’s face.