A young and lovely girl was reclining on a couch, turning over the leaves of a photograph album.
"Well, did you find out what is the matter with the girl?" she asked.
"Yes," said the elder woman. "And you would never guess what it was."
"Pardon me; but I shall not even try," said the young girl, indolently, "for the simple reason that it would be too much of an effort for me."
"I will tell you," said the lady, drawing up a chair; "and I want you to pay the strictest attention, Florence St. John."
"The subject will not interest me, mamma," returned the young girl, turning over the leaves.
"But it will interest you," returned the other, "when I tell you that it concerns your new handsome lover."
She was quite right. The album fell to the floor with a crash.
"It appears," said Mrs. St. John, "that young Ainsley has got into some kind of an intrigue with a poor but very pretty shop-girl. I think she must be a shop-girl."