Pansy Laurens had found that “friend in need” who is “a friend, indeed,” when she became acquainted with Mrs. Beach, the invalid lady. She took a deep, kindly interest in the lonely, friendless girl, and during the few days when they stayed over at Louisville to recover from the shock of the accident mastered much of her story.
She was surprised when she learned that the lovely girl was of the working classes, for she had fancied that Pansy’s wonderful beauty had descended from aristocratic, high-bred parentage, but Pansy proudly undeceived her.
“My father was a mechanic, and my grandfather was a farmer. My mother was a farmer’s daughter, too, so we were only plain, hard-working people. I left the public school where I was educated as soon as my father died, and worked in a tobacco factory three years.”
Mrs. Beach, who was a Southerner, and “a born aristocrat,” looked honestly surprised, and spoke out frankly her astonishment.
“I thought,” she said, “that the girls employed in the tobacco factories of the South were of a very low and ignorant class, indeed. I have received that impression somehow.”
Pansy thought of Juliette Ives and the scorn she had displayed toward her, and answered bitterly:
“Many have thought the same, Mrs. Beach; but in the three years I spent in a tobacco factory I met many girls as beautiful, as refined, and as good as are met with in the highest circles of what is called good society. I cannot believe that nobility is only to be met with in the ranks of the rich and well-born. The good and bad are met with in all classes.”
“That is quite true, my child,” said the lady, to whom Pansy had not confided the story of her cruel experience among the aristocrats of her native city. She gazed admiringly at the flushed face of the excited girl, and added: “I do not wish to flatter you, my dear girl, but I will say frankly that both your mind and person fit you to adorn the highest society. It would be an injustice to you to lower you to the position of my personal attendant; therefore you shall remain with me as my companion, and as soon as we reach San Diego, my destination, I will try to secure some elderly woman as my maid.”
Pansy’s tears of gratitude amply thanked the noble woman for her generous words, and she sighed to think that she dared not confide to her the whole story of her life.
But she could not bring herself to repeat to a stranger, however kindly, the sorrows of her unfortunate love affair.