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.

"I saw him there last evening--and he sat conversing with Mary in a
way that showed them to be no strangers to each other."

A long, embarrassed, and painful silence followed this announcement.
At last, Emily got up and went off to her chamber, where she threw
herself upon her bed and burst into tears. After these ceased to
flow, and her mind had become, in some degree, tranquillized, her
thoughts became busy. She remembered that Mr. Armand had called,
while they were hiding away in fear lest it should be known that
they were not on a fashionable visit to some watering place--how he
had rung and rung repeatedly, as if under the idea that they were
there, and how his countenance expressed disappointment as she
caught a glimpse of it through the closed shutters. With all this
came, also, the idea that he might have discovered that they were at
home, and have despised the principle from which they acted, in thus
shutting themselves up, and denying all visiters. This thought was
exceedingly painful. It was evident to her, that it was not their
changed circumstances that kept him away--for had he not visited
Mary Jones?

Uncle Joseph came in a few evenings afterwards, and during his visit
the following conversation took place.

"Mr. Armand visits Mary Jones, I am told," Adeline remarked, as an
opportunity for saying so occurred.

"He does? Well, she is a good girl--one in a thousand," replied
Uncle Joseph.

"She is only a watchmaker's daughter," said Emily, with an
ill-concealed sneer.

"And you are only a merchant's daughter. Pray, what is the
difference?"

"Why, a good deal of difference!"

"Well state it."

"Mr. Jones is nothing but a mechanic."

"Well?"

"Who thinks of associating with mechanics?"

"There may be some who refuse to do so; but upon what grounds do
they assume a superiority?"

"B