His manner was very respectful, while there was nothing in what he said to which she could in the least object—indeed, she found him rather entertaining at first, and almost forgot, for the time, that she was Ruth Richards, the seamstress, instead of Mona Montague, the heiress, and social equal of any high-toned young man whom she might meet.
"Have you lived long in New York, Miss Richards?" Mr. Hamblin inquired, after he had rattled on about various matters, and Mona had hardly spoken. He desired to hear her talk, that he might judge of her mental caliber.
"Yes, thirteen or fourteen years," Mona replied.
Louis Hamblin frowned; he had hoped that she was a stranger there.
"Ah! Then of course New York is very familiar to you," he remarked. "Do your friends reside here?"
"No—I have no friends;" Mona said, flushing and with starting tears.
"Indeed," returned her companion, in a tone of sympathy, "I noticed that you were in mourning—I am very sorry."
Mona had heard so few words of sympathy of late that she came near losing her self-control at this, and she found herself unable to make any reply, lest her tears should fall.
"You look very delicate, too," her companion continued, bending a curious glance upon her. "I am sure you have not always lived as you are living now; it must be very hard to sit and sew all day. I hope you find my aunt considerate, Miss Richards."
Mona was astonished at this last remark which she thought was in very bad taste, and she turned a cold, questioning glance upon him.