If he did not care to see her, she certainly did not care for seeing him. There were plenty of other gentlemen, the same as he was, who could appreciate her and were eager enough to talk with her. If Mr. Maynard came again she would take care to let him know that there were other people, just as good as he was, who were not too high and mighty to admire her. There was Mr. Bingham, for instance, he was always there, always kind and pleasant and cheerful. Evidently he cared for her. Here Carry's thoughts wandered off: “Yes, it would be very nice to be a lady, no more living in a little shop and selling newspapers and tobacco, but a real lady, with nice dresses and servants, and, perhaps, carriages, and above all a home for dear old father after all his troubles and cares. Oh! how nice that would be, how very happy!” And Carry's thoughts, which had been gloomy enough at the commencement of her reverie, ended by drawing a very bright picture indeed. Carry's thoughts once fairly directed to this subject they returned again to it very frequently. By what her father had said she would have been a lady had he not been unfortunate, and why should she not regain the position for herself and him? Indeed, she had felt strongly attracted by Fred Bingham. She liked the merry, good tempered, cheerful young fellow; he was so attentive, so evidently fond of her. Indeed, it was only the strong influence which the one visit of Frank Maynard had exercised over her which had hitherto kept this feeling in check. Now, smarting with pique and resentment against Frank, the feeling returned with redoubled force. Why, she asked herself, should she throw away an honest love for a chimera? Why should she not make herself happy with Fred Bingham? And so from this time she relaxed in her stiffness with him, and his visits to the tobacconist's became longer and more frequent, the conversations between them more interesting and confidential, and there was less of badinage now, and more of blushing on her part.