* * * * *

Mona was gradually becoming accustomed to her new life, although it was so very different from the almost charmed existence which she had hitherto led, and had it not been for her grief for her uncle and on account of Ray’s seeming neglect and indifference, she would not have been unhappy in her position.

Mrs. Montague was not unreasonable—­she did not overwork her, although there was always plenty of sewing to be done.  She rather enjoyed being busy, on the whole, while she experienced a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that she could be independent; she even felt something of pride, in thus rising above the adverse circumstances that had so unexpectedly overtaken her.

She was very careful about her health, for she knew that this sudden change from her previous active care-free life to such sedentary habits, must be a great tax upon her constitution, and so she persisted in taking exercise in the open air every day, although often she would have preferred to remain in the house.

A couple of days after her encounter with Mr. Louis Hamblin upon the steps of Mrs. Montague’s residence, she was returning from her usual stroll, when the young man again suddenly appeared around the corner of a street she was passing, and almost ran into her.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Richards,” he exclaimed, stopping short, and regarding her with apparent surprise, while he lifted his hat to her with great politeness, “I hope I did not startle you.”

“Oh, no; and you are quite excusable,” Mona responded, but somewhat astonished that he should address her by her name; but she imagined that he must have asked Mrs. Montague who she was.

She was about to hasten on, when he remarked: 

“Since we are both going the same way, perhaps you will allow me to walk with you.”

Mona would have preferred to proceed on her way alone, but she had not quite the courage to say so, since he appeared so courteous, so she made no reply at all.

The young man took her silence for consent, and, falling into step with her, began chatting as freely as if they had been old acquaintances.

His manner was very respectful, while there was nothing in what he said to which she could in the least object—­indeed, she found him rather entertaining at first, and almost forgot, for the time, that she was Ruth Richards, the seamstress, instead of Mona Montague, the heiress, and social equal of any high-toned young man whom she might meet.

“Have you lived long in New York, Miss Richards?” Mr. Hamblin inquired, after he had rattled on about various matters, and Mona had hardly spoken.  He desired to hear her talk, that he might judge of her mental caliber.

“Yes, thirteen or fourteen years,” Mona replied.

Louis Hamblin frowned; he had hoped that she was a stranger there.

“Ah!  Then of course New York is very familiar to you,” he remarked.  “Do your friends reside here?”