"You will be struck at once, Miss Emsdale, by the contrast. The instant you come in contact with Mr. Moody, at Pickett's--he is really the head of the firm,--you will experience the delightful,--and unique, I may say,--sensation of being in the presence of a cultured, high-bred gentleman. They are most uncommon among shop-keepers in these days. This little Juneo is as common as dirt. He hasn't a shred of good-breeding. Utterly low-class Neapolitan person, I should say at a venture,--although I have never been by way of knowing any of the lower class Italians. They must be quite dreadful in their native gutters. Now, Mr. Moody,--but you shall see. Really, he is so splendid that one can almost imagine him in the House of Lords, or being privileged to sit down in the presence of the king, or--My word, Stuyvesant, what are you scowling at?" "I'm not scowling," growled Stuyvesant, from the little side seat in front of them. "He actually makes me feel sometimes as though I were dirt under his feet," went on Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "Oh, come now, mother, you know I never make you feel anything of the--" "I was referring to Mr. Moody, dear." "Oh,--well," said he, slightly crestfallen. Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody, a footman without the normal supply of aitches; Juneo, a nobleman with countless generations of nobility behind him! The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling Pickett's. Another limousine had the place of vantage ahead of them. "Blow your horn, Galpin," ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "They have no right to stand there, blocking the way." "It's Mrs. Millidew's car, madam," said the footman up beside Galpin. "Never mind, Galpin," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily. "We will get out here. It's only a step." Miss Emsdale started. A warm red suffused her cheeks. She had not seen Trotter since that day in Bramble's book-shop. Her heart began to beat rapidly. Trotter was standing on the curb, carrying on a conversation with some one inside the car. He too started perceptibly when his gaze fell upon the third person to emerge from the Smith-Parvis automobile. Almost instantly his face darkened and his tall frame stiffened. He had taken a second look at the first person to emerge. The reply he was in process of making to the occupant of his own car suffered a collapse. It became disjointed, incoherent and finally came to a halt. He was afforded a slight thrill of relief when Miss Emsdale deliberately ignored the hand that was extended to assist her in alighting. Mrs. Millidew, the younger, turned her head to glance at the passing trio. Her face lighted with a slight smile of recognition. The two Smith-Parvises bowed and smiled in return. "Isn't she beautiful?" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis to her son, without waiting to get out of earshot. "Oh, rather," said he, quite as distinctly. "Who is that extremely pretty girl?" inquired Mrs. Millidew, the younger, also quite loudly, addressing no one in particular.