“It’s a strange idea, certainly,” said Mr. Armand, in momentary abstraction of thought; and then bidding Uncle Joseph good morning, he walked hastily along, his mind in a state of fermentation.

The truth was, Mr. Armand had become much attached to Emily Ludlow, for she was a girl of imposing appearance and winning manners.  But this staggered him.  If she were such a slave to fashion and observance, she was not the woman for his wife.  As he reflected upon the matter, and reviewed his intercourse with her, he could remember many things in her conversation and conduct that he did not like.  He could distinctly detect a degree of self-estimation consequent upon her station in society, that did not meet his approbation—­because it indicated a weakness of mind that he had no wish to have in a wife.  The wealth of her father he had not regarded, nor did now regard, for he was himself possessor of an independence.

Two days after, he was again at Saratoga.  The brief interview that had passed between him and Mary Jones was a sufficient introduction for him; and, taking advantage of it, he threw himself in her way frequently, and the more he saw of her, the more did he admire her winning gentleness, sweet temper, and good sense.  When he returned to New York, he was more than half in love with her.

“Mr. Armand has not been to see us once this fall,” said Adeline, one evening in October.  They were sitting in a handsomely furnished parlor in a neat dwelling, comfortable and commodious, but not so splendid as the one they had occupied a few months previous.  Mr. Ludlow’s affairs had become so embarrassed, that he determined, in spite of the opposition of his family, to reduce his expenses.  This resolution he carried out amid tears and remonstrances—­for he could not do it in any other way.

“Who could expect him to come here?” Emily replied, to the remark of her sister.  “Not I, certainly.”

“I don’t believe that would make any difference with him,” Florence ventured to say, for it was little that she could say, that did not meet with opposition.

“Why don’t you?” asked Adeline.

“Because Mary Jones—­”

“Mary Jones again!” ejaculated Emily.  “I believe you don’t think of anybody but Mary Jones.  I’m surprised that Ma lets you visit that girl!”

“As good people as I am visit her,” replied Florence.  “I’ve seen those there who would be welcome here.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you had waited until I had finished my sentence, you would have known before now.  Mary Jones lives in a house no better than this, and Mr. Armand goes to see her.”

“I don’t believe it!” said Emily, with emphasis.

“Just as you like about that.  Seeing is believing, they say, and as I have seen him there, I can do no less than believe he was there.”

“When did you see him there?” Emily now asked with eager interest, while her face grew pale.