She had not even taken her hand at greeting; she had looked her over and inspected her with a critical stare, as if she were some beast of burden that she was buying to toil for her. She had not offered her the commonest hospitalities of her house, or given her one kind word or look. She had instead simply, and in the coolest manner possible, commented on her marvelous escape from death, and then _insulted_ her by speaking disparagingly of her parents; and now she had dismissed her from her presence as if she had been a menial, ordered _two print dresses_ made for her, without a thought apparently of other clothing so necessary to her after being so long without a change of any kind. She took a step forward, her slight form drawn proudly erect, the hot, indignant blood surging over neck, face, and brow, and was about to demand the meaning of this strange treatment, when Mrs. Richards, seeing her intentions, said, haughtily, and in a tone not to be mistaken: “I told you that you could go, Stella. Did you understand me?” With a heaving bosom and flashing eyes, Star bowed with a sort of stately grace, turned and followed Mrs. Blunt from the room with the step of a queen; but when the door was shut behind them, she stopped and confronted that good though eccentric woman with an aspect which, to say the least, astonished her. CHAPTER V. BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT. “What does this mean?” she demanded, passionately. “Why am I received in this strange, this heartless manner, by my mother’s cousin? Why does she presume to cast aspersions upon my father and mother, and talk about print dresses, and assigning me duties as if I were a mere servant?” Mrs. Blunt’s breath was fairly taken away by these swift, indignant sentences and questions, and she could only gaze at the young girl in speechless surprise for a few moments. Star was wondrously beautiful then, in spite of her soiled and disordered attire, with her flashing eyes, her blazing cheeks, her delicate, dilating nostrils, her scornful, curling lips, and proudly poised head. “What does it mean, I say?” repeated Star, impatient at the woman’s silence. Mrs. Blunt found her tongue at last. “Mercy on us, child!” she ejaculated, her astonishment extending to her tones. “You’ve a temper of your own, or I’m much mistaken; and you’ll need it, too, if you’re going to live in this house.” Then she added, more thoughtfully: “I’m afraid, miss, you’ve come over here with a wrong impression—I really _am_.” “What do you mean?” Star asked. “How have I come with a wrong impression?” “What did you expect when you started to come to America to live with Mrs. Richards?” the housekeeper asked, evading her questions by putting another.