He was a tall, handsome young man, not yet nineteen years of age, and in his appearance there certainly was something savoring of the air supposed to mark the F. F. V's. His manners were polished in the extreme, possessing, perhaps, a little too much hauteur, and impressing the beholder with the idea that he could, if he chose, be very cold and overbearing. His forehead, high and intellectually formed, was shaded by curls of soft brown hair, while about his mouth there lurked a mischievous smile, somewhat at variance with the proud curve of his upper lip, where an incipient mustache was starting into life. Such was Arthur St. Claire, as he stood coolly inspecting Edith Hastings, who mentally styling him the "hatefullest upstart" she ever saw, gave him back a glance as cool and curious as his own. "You are an odd little thing," he said at last. "No I ain't neither," returned Edith, the tears starting in her flashing black eyes. "Spunky," was the young man's next remark, as he advanced a step or two toward her. "But don't let's quarrel, little lady. You've come down to entertain me, I dare say; and now tell me who you are." His manner at once disarmed the impulsive Edith of all prejudice, and she replied: "I told you I was Edith Hastings, Mrs. Atherton's waiting maid." "Waiting maid!" and Arthur St. Claire took a step or two backwards as he said: "Why are you in here? This is not your place." Edith sprang to her feet. She could not misunderstand the feeling with which he regarded her, and with an air of insulted dignity worthy of Grace herself, she exclaimed, "Oh, how I hate you, Arthur St. Claire! At first I thought you might be good, like Squire Harrington; but you ain't. I can't bear you. Ugh!" "Squire Harrington? Does he live near here?" and the face which at the sight of her anger had dimpled all over with smiles, turned white as Arthur St. Claire asked this question, to which Edith replied: "Yes; he's blind, and he lives up at Collingwood. You can see its tower now," and she pointed across the fields. But Arthur did not heed her, and continued to ply her with questions concerning Mr. Harrington, asking if he had formerly lived near Geneva, in western New York, if he had a crazy father, and if he ever came to Brier Hill. Edith's negative answer to this last query seemed to satisfy him, and when, mistaking his eagerness for a desire to see her divinity, Edith patronizingly informed him that he might go with her some time to Collingwood, he answered her evasively, asking if Richard recognized voices, as most blind people did.