“Yes, that’s about the fact of the case,” Mr. Beresford replied, feeling compelled to speak out. “Your mother’s family did not stand as high socially as your father’s. They were poor, while Mr. Hetherton, your grandfather, was rich, and that makes a difference, you know.” “No, I didn’t,” she replied. “I thought nothing made a difference in America, if you behaved yourself. But go on. How poor were they? Did they beg? What did they do?” The look in her eyes brought the answer promptly: “Your grandfather built chimneys and laid cellar walls.” “Well, that’s dirty, sticky, nasty work, but no disgrace—people must have chimneys and cellar walls, and I’ve no doubt he built them well. What did _she_ do—grandmother, I mean? Was she a bar-maid?” She had almost hit it, but not quite, and Mr. Beresford replied: “She sold gingerbread and beer; kept a kind of baker’s shop.” Reinette drew a quick, gasping breath, put the wet napkin again on her head without wringing it at all, and said: “Yes, I see—I understand. They were unfortunate enough to be born poor; they did what they could to get their living; but that is nothing against them; that is no reason why you should despise them. They are mine, and I won’t have it, I say.” “My dear Miss Hetherton,” Mr. Beresford began, puzzled to know how to treat this capricious creature, “what _can_ you mean? I do not despise them.” “Yes, you do,” she answered; “I see it in your face. I saw it there yesterday when they claimed me. But I won’t have it; they are mine. Who was that young man with them? Why don’t you tell me about him, and not of _them_ all the time? _He_ is not a Ferguson, sure?” No, Phil was not a Ferguson, and Mr. Beresford launched at once into praise of Phil, and the Rossiters generally, dwelling at length upon their handsome house at the Knoll, the high position they held in both town and country, the accomplishments of the young ladies, Ethel and Grace, the sweetness and dignity of Mrs. Rossiter, and, lastly, Phil himself, the best-hearted, most popular fellow in the world, with the most exquisite taste in everything, as was shown in what he had done to make Hetherton Place attractive. It was strange how Reinette’s whole attitude and expression changed as she listened. The Rossiters were more to her liking than the Fergusons, and she became as soft and gentle as a purring kitten, forgetting in her interest to wipe the drops of water from her face, as the napkin made frequent journeys to the bowl and back. Mr. Beresford felt that he deserved a great deal of credit for thus extolling Phil, feeling, as he did, a horrible pang of jealousy when he saw the bright, eager face flush, and the dark eyes light up with pleasure and expectancy.