Miss Balquidder listened thoughtfully.  Not that it was a new story—­alas! she heard it every day; but there was something new in the telling of it; such extreme directness and simplicity, such utter want of either false pride or false shame, No asking of favors, and yet no shrinking from well-means kindness; the poor woman speaking freely to the rich one, recognizing the common womanhood of both, and never supposing for an instant that mere money or position could make any difference between them.

The story ended, both turned, as was the character of both, to the practical application of it—­what it was exactly that Hilary needed, and what Miss Balquidder could supply.

The latter said, after a turn or two up and down the room, with her hands behind her—­the only masculine trick she had—­

“My dear, before going further, I ought to tell you one thing—­I am not a lady.”

Hilary looked at her in no little bewilderment.

“That is,” explained Miss Balquidder, laughing, “not an educated gentlewoman like you.  I made my money myself—­in trade.  I kept an outfitter’s shop.”

“You must have kept it uncommonly well,” was the involuntary reply, which, in its extreme honesty and naivete, was perhaps the best thing that Hilary could have said.

“Well, perhaps I did,” and Miss Balquidder laughed her hearty laugh, betraying one of her few weaknesses—­a consciousness of her own capabilities as a woman of business, and a pleasure at her own deserved success.

“Therefore, you see.  I can not help you as a governess.  Perhaps I would not if I could, for, so far as I see, a good clearance of one half the governesses into honest trades would be for their own benefit, and greatly to the benefit of the other half.  But that’s not my affair.  I only meddle with things I understand.  Miss Leaf, would you be ashamed of keeping a shop?”

It is no reflection upon Hilary to confess that this point-blank question startled her.—­Her bringing up had been strictly among the professional class; and in the provinces sharper than even in London is drawn the line between the richest tradesman who “keeps a shop,” and the poorest lawyer, doctor, or clergyman who ever starved in decent gentility.  It had been often a struggle for Hilary Leaf’s girlish pride to have to teach A B C to little boys and girls whose parents stood behind counters; but as she grew older she grew wiser, and intercourse with Robert Lyon had taught her much.  She never forgot, one day, when Selina asked him something about his grandfather or great-grandfather, and he answered quickly, smiling, “Well, I suppose I had one, but I really never heard.”  Nevertheless it takes long to conquer entirely the class prejudices of years, nay, more, of generations.  In spite of her will Hilary felt herself wince, and the color rush all over her face, at Miss Balquidder’s question.

“Take time to answer, and speak out, my dear.  Don’t be afraid.  You’ll not offend me.”