“She is a lady, every whit,” he said, “and pretty, too, and intelligent, and well—yes—she rather expects you to call, and she would like to see a little of New York society, and she don’t know a single soul, and it’s lonesome for her, and you can show her some attention without hurting you one bit, and I hope you will do it.” He had said a great deal more than he intended saying, for something in Lottie’s proud eyes exasperated him, and without waiting for her to answer he left the breakfast-room suddenly, and his wife heard the bang of the street door as it shut behind him. “Expects me to call and show her some attention! How absurd,” she said to herself, as she went back to her room. “She cannot be much accustomed to the usages of society if she supposes I am to call on every clerk who happens to get married. Why, my list is so large now that I am nearly crazy and I certainly shall not add Mrs. John Craig’s name to it. Apple pie and ginger-snaps, and one servant! Poor John! He was a nice kind of a fellow, and ought to have been rich.” And then Lottie fell into a fit of musing as to what might have been had John been rich instead of poor. The truth was, Lottie Guile had fancied John Craig better than any man she ever knew, and once, after a long chat with him in the office, where she was waiting for her father, she had tried to make up her mind to encourage the liking he evidently had for her, but fear of what Mrs. Grundy would say if the daughter of Richard Guile should marry her father’s clerk prevailed, and when Amasa Steele offered himself and his half-million, she accepted him, and wished he was not quite so gray, and that he looked more like the confidential clerk, who was present at the wedding, and who, she thought, seemed a little sorry.