lura lets them come, that's
their affair. But, as I told the girls in the beginning:

"'The hand of Douglas is his own, and never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as--the mushroom aristocracy of Bank Street--clasp!'

"No sign-painter's daughter nor bookkeeper's daughter, whichever she
may be, on the programme with me, thank you. If there is, I'll not
sing. That's all there is about it."

"Molly Glendenning, you're a snob! The worst sort!" replied Hester,
but she laughed as she said it, and in a moment they were out of
hearing. Several minutes later they passed the door again on their way
down-stairs.

Mary Lee sat staring at the paper before her with dazed, tear-blinded
eyes, as bit by bit her innocent little air-castle crumbled into
nothingness. Then her glance fell on the words she had written, and
laying her face down on them she began to sob. "Dear old father," she
whispered, brokenly. "I asked them for bread and they gave me a stone.
And it's because you have to work. They despise you for that, you dear
old daddykins, with your high ideals and knightly notions of honour.
Oh, how can they be so snobbish and blind! I'll not stay another day
under the same roof with such heartless people!"

Wiping her eyes, she went slowly down-stairs to look for Travis, but
the porch and halls were deserted. Every one must have gone over to
the Inn, she thought, as she heard the notes of the violins stealing
out on the night air. Travis was nowhere to be found. At last Mary Lee
wandered into the empty, dimly lighted drawing-room, and throwing
herself face downward on a long velvet divan, gave way to the feelings
she could no longer control. She had never been so miserable in all
her life before. Great, choking sobs shook her convulsively.

"Why, my dear child! What is the matter?" asked a deep voice,
suddenly, and Mary Lee started up to see the kind face of the old
general bending anxiously over her. "Are you ill? What is the mutter?"
he repeated.

[Illustration: "'WHAT IS THE MATTER?' HE REPEATED"]

Mary Lee sat up, wiping her eyes with a little, wet ball of a
handkerchief. "Nothing, thank you, sir," she said, politely, feeling
all of a sudden that the wise old general would think her very silly,
if he knew the cause of her crying. She tried to keep the sobs out of
her answer, but the effort was a dismal failure, and the tears began
to flow again.

"People often break their hearts over nothing," answered