“Oh, how I hate you, Arthur St. Claire!  At first I thought you might be good, like Squire Harrington; but you ain’t.  I can’t bear you.  Ugh!”

“Squire Harrington?  Does he live near here?” and the face which at the sight of her anger had dimpled all over with smiles, turned white as Arthur St. Claire asked this question, to which Edith replied: 

“Yes; he’s blind, and he lives up at Collingwood.  You can see its tower now,” and she pointed across the fields.

But Arthur did not heed her, and continued to ply her with questions concerning Mr. Harrington, asking if he had formerly lived near Geneva, in western New York, if he had a crazy father, and if he ever came to Brier Hill.

Edith’s negative answer to this last query seemed to satisfy him, and when, mistaking his eagerness for a desire to see her divinity, Edith patronizingly informed him that he might go with her some time to Collingwood, he answered her evasively, asking if Richard recognized voices, as most blind people did.

Edith could not tell, but she presumed he did, for he was the smartest man that ever lived; and in her enthusiastic praises she waxed so eloquent, using, withal, so good language, that Arthur forgot she was a waiting maid, and insensibly began to entertain a feeling of respect for the sprightly child, whose dark face sparkled and flashed with her excitement.  She was a curious specimen, he acknowledged, and he began adroitly to sound the depths of her intellect.  Edith took the cue at once, and not wishing to be in the background, asked him, as she had at first intended doing, if he’d read the last new novel.

Without in the least comprehending what novel she meant, Arthur promptly replied that he had.

“How did you like it?” she continued, adjusting her crimson scarf as she had seen Mrs. Atherton do under similar circumstances.

“Very much indeed,” returned the young man with imperturbable gravity, but when with a toss of her head she asked; “Didn’t you think there was too much ’physics in it?” he went off into peals of laughter so loud and long that they brought old Rachel to the door to see if “he was done gone crazy or what.”

Taking advantage of her presence, the crest-fallen Edith crept disconsolately up the stairs, feeling that she had made a most ridiculous mistake, and wondering what the word could be that sounded so much like ’physics, and yet wasn’t that at all.  She know she had made herself ridiculous, and was indulging in a fit of crying when Mrs. Atherton returned, delighted to meet her young cousin, in whom she felt a pardonable pride.

“You must have been very lonely,” she said, beginning to apologize for her absence.

“Never was less so in my life,” he replied.  “Why, I’ve been splendidly entertained by a little black princess, who called herself your waiting maid, and discoursed most eloquently of metaphysics and all that.”