It was little wonder that Puss Russell thought him dull on that first occasion.  Out of whom condescension is to flow is a matter of which Heaven takes no cognizance.  To use her own words, Puss thought him “stuck up,” when he should have been grateful.  We know that Stephen was not stuck up, and later Miss Russell learned that likewise.  Very naturally she took preoccupation for indifference.  It is a matter worth recording, however, that she did not tease him, because she did not dare.  He did not ask her to dance, which was rude.  So she passed him back to Mr. Carvel, who introduced him to Miss Renault and Miss Saint Cyr, and other young ladies of the best French families.  And finally, drifting hither and thither with his eyes on Virginia, in an evil moment he was presented to Mrs. Colfax.  Perhaps it has been guessed that Mrs. Colfax was a very great lady indeed, albeit the daughter of an overseer.  She bore Addison Colfax’s name, spent his fortune, and retained her good looks.  On this particular occasion she was enjoying herself quite as much as any young girl in the room, and, while resting from a waltz, was regaling a number of gentlemen with a humorous account of a scandal at the Virginia Spring’s.

None but a great lady could have meted out the punishment administered to poor Stephen.  None but a great lady could have concerned it.  And he, who had never been snubbed before, fell headlong into her trap.  How was the boy to know that there was no heart in the smile with which she greeted him?  It was all over in an instant.  She continued to talk about Virginia Springs, “Oh, Mr. Brice, of course you have been there.  Of course you know the Edmunds.  No?  You haven’t been there?  You don’t know the Edmunds?  I thought every body had been there.  Charles, you look as if you were just dying to waltz.  Let’s have a turn before the music stops.”

And so she whirled away, leaving Stephen forlorn, a little too angry to be amused just then.  In that state he spied a gentleman coming towards him—­a gentleman the sight of whom he soon came to associate with all that is good and kindly in this world, Mr. Brinsmade.  And now he put his hand on Stephen’s shoulder.  Whether he had seen the incident just past, who can tell?

“My son,” said he, “I am delighted to see you here.  Now that we are such near neighbors, we must be nearer friends.  You must know my wife, and my son Jack, and my daughter Anne.”

Mrs. Brinsmade was a pleasant little body, but plainly not a fit mate for her husband.  Jack gave Stephen a warm grasp of the hand, and an amused look.  As for Anne, she was more like her father; she was Stephen’s friend from that hour.

“I have seen you quite often, going in at your gate, Mr. Brice.  And I have seen your mother, too.  I like her,” said Anne.  “She has such a wonderful face.”  And the girl raised her truthful blue eyes to his.

“My mother would be delighted to know you,” he ventured, not knowing what else to say.  It was an effort for him to reflect upon their new situation as poor tenants to a wealthy family.