She was growing daily more like her, and the gentle graceful girl was in every respect a lady, and far superior in manners and appearance to the daughters of tradesmen in her father's position. Indeed, she knew nothing of any society but that of her mother's relations. The words which at last startled Mr. Armstrong were really needed to show him his error. "Who is that young lady writing at the desk in your counting-house, Armstrong?" "My daughter," he replied, proudly. "I wish her to acquire business habits, and this is the only plan I can adopt for the purpose." "Then the sooner you discontinue it the better; nothing can be more unwise. Do your clerks have access to your counting-house?" Mr. Armstrong was not without a certain degree of pride in his wife's connexions, and he flushed high as he replied--"Mrs. Armstrong's daughter is not likely to notice one of her father's clerks." His friend shrugged his shoulders as he said,--"Well, Armstrong, you know best; but if I had such a beautiful girl for my daughter, I would not degrade her by placing her in a position on a level with those whom I considered her inferiors." Half offended as he was, Mr. Armstrong yet took the hint. He returned to his counting-house and furtively examined the beautiful profile as Mary, _con amore_, leaned over her task. Her auburn hair hung in massive curls to her waist, and though braided on her forehead and thrown behind her ears, the curls drooped over the lower part of her face even to the paper on which she wrote. "She's growing more like her mother than ever," was the father's thought. "I believe it is that profusion of hair which makes her so attractive; suppose it were cut off or rolled up in some way, I could insist----" He paused. "No; I should have mother, and aunts, and uncles all against me. I've had my way in most things, I suppose I must give up now and put a stop to this." And so ended Mary's days in the counting-house. The time came when also for this short insight into business matters she could thank her father's peculiarities. Mrs. Armstrong's sisters were, of course, duly informed of all these eccentric arrangements on the part of her husband, but they knew it was useless to interfere. They knew also that his influence over his daughter was too great for them to attempt to counteract it. "Fancy, Helen," said Mrs. Armstrong one day to her sister, "Mary has not only to make beds and dust rooms, but actually spends an hour in the kitchen every morning learning to make pies and puddings, and even how to roast and boil meat!" Mrs. Herbert shrugged her shoulders as she replied,--"Well, if all this nonsense about teaching her the duties of servants and such degrading employment does not eventually destroy all refinement of feeling and manners in Mary I shall be very much surprised."