His companion was no other than Laura Martin, whose mother, having built an elegant house and given several large parties, was now a "fashionable," par excellence. Laura elevated her nose very perceptibly, and answered:
"Oh, a mere nobody! Beulah Benton. I can't imagine how she contrived to be invited here. She is a teacher in the public school, I believe; but that is not the worst. She used to hire herself out as a servant. Indeed, it is a fact, she was my little brother's nurse some years ago. I think ma hired her for six dollars a month." She laughed affectedly, and allowed her escort to fill her plate with creams.
Cornelia grew white with anger, and the stranger asked, with a smile, if he should consider this a sample of the society she boasted of. Turning abruptly to Laura, she replied, with undisguised contempt:
"The Fates forbid, Mr. Falconer, that you should judge American society from some of the specimens you may see here to-night! Misfortune placed Miss Benton, at an early age, in an orphan asylum, and while quite young she left it to earn a support. Mrs. Martin (this young lady's mother) hired her as a nurse; but she soon left this position, qualified herself to teach, and now, with a fine intellect thoroughly cultivated, is the pride of all who can appreciate true nobility of soul and, of course, an object of envy and detraction to her inferiors, especially to some of our fashionable parvenus, whose self-interest prompts them to make money alone the standard of worth, and who are in the habit of determining the gentility of different persons by what they have, not what they are."
Her scornful glance rested witheringly on Laura's face, and, mortified and enraged, the latter took her companion's arm and moved away.
"I have some desire to become acquainted with one who could deserve such eulogy from you," answered the foreigner, somewhat amused at the course the conversation had taken and quite satisfied that Americans were accustomed to correct false impressions in rather an abrupt manner.
"I will present you to her with great pleasure. She is not here; we must search for her."
She took his arm, and they looked for Beulah from room to room; finally, Dr. Hartwell informed Cornelia that she had gone home, and, tired and out of humor, the latter excused herself and prepared to follow her friend's example. Her father was deep in a game of whist, her mother unwilling to return home so soon, and Eugene and Antoinette—where were they? Dr. Hartwell saw her perplexed expression, and asked:
"Whom are you looking for?"
"Eugene."