Maude gave a little sigh--she was apt now and then to think sentimentally of that remote period of her existence, some four or five years back, when she had believed that the happiest fate Heaven could award her would be a union with Harcourt Lowther. Even now, though she had schooled herself to think of him coldly, though she tried very hard not to think of him at all, the memory of the old time would come back; the picture of the home that might have been--the little cottage in St. John’s Wood--the long quiet evenings, made delightful by genial companionship--the pleasant hours devoted to art--the dear old concertante duets by Mozart and Beethoven--the “two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one,”--the images of these things were apt to arise suddenly before her, in the midst of her frivolous pleasure in her fine dresses, and gorgeous house, and admiring friends. “Dear Julia,” she said, winding one arm caressingly about the Irish girl, “you will come, won’t you?” “Yes,” Miss Desmond answered, “I will come if you want me. But I must come upon a new footing. This time I must work for my wages. I have been a hired slave ever since I left your father’s house. I will be your servant, Mrs. Tredethlyn, if you choose to hire me.” “Julia, you will be my friend, just as you used to be.” “No,” cried Miss Desmond, with a resolute gesture of her hand, “no; if you want a companion to keep your keys and attend to your lapdogs, to finish fancy-work that you have begun and grown tired of, to read French novels to you when you want to be read to sleep, to write your letters of invitation, to take the bass in your duets, or carry an occasional message to your milliner,--if you want a person of this kind, I am quite willing to be that person.” “Julia!” “I will come to you on those terms, or not at all.” “You shall come to me on any terms you please, so long as you come.” “Very well, then, I will come. My present employer gives me sixty guineas a year, and makes me work harder than a pack-horse. You can give me the same money, if you think my services worth so much. I will make arrangements for leaving my present situation. A housemaid left the other day, and I believe she gave her mistress a month’s notice--I suppose the same rule will hold good with me: I will come to you at the end of that time, unless you change your mind in the meanwhile.” “I shall not change my mind; I only wish you could come to me to-day. Take my card, dear, and give me yours.” “I have no cards,” answered Miss Desmond. “I have neither name nor place in the world, and have no need of visiting-cards.” She wrote her address upon the back of an envelope, and gave it to Mrs. Tredethlyn. To the last her manner was cold and ungracious: but Maude parted from her happy in the idea that she had rescued her old companion from a life of drudgery.