I say a real friend, though I never saw her before,--it was mesmerism, I suppose; we took to each other at once. We had got quite intimate before the gentlemen came upstairs. I had told her where we lived, and she promised to come and see me, and we had found out a great many opinions we had in common. Things were different, however, when the gentlemen appeared. All the young men hovered about Miss Cresswell. There were few young ladies, and she was certainly much the prettiest; and, I am very grieved to have to say it--I cannot deny that she _did_ flirt a little. She was disdainful, and would take no notice of anybody at first, but by degrees she did come to little bursts of flirtation; and I am afraid she liked it too. Then there began to be things said about her and me which displeased me. We were “Art and Nature,” somebody said; and some of the gentlemen evidently entertained the same feeling that Harry indicated, when he said they would suppose me a little humbug. Evidently we were both thought little humbugs, sitting by each other to set each other off. Some of them, I do believe, thought it had all been made up beforehand. Certainly we were a strange contrast; I, in my plain white dress, with no ornaments; she in velvet, with such a quantity of jewellery. But to have people looking at me, and contrasting me with Miss Cresswell, and making jokes upon my dress and hers, was what I did not choose to put up with. People accustomed to society may like it, but I did not. So I got up and took Harry’s arm, and went to look at a picture. Nobody spoke to us for some five minutes or so, but we were close to some ladies talking with all their might. Then some one touched my arm, and I saw Miss Cresswell had followed me, and brought an old gentleman with her. This was her father. I got behind one of the talking ladies to veil my “simplicity,” that there might be no more nonsense about it. The ladies were talking of women working. Oh, so little they knew or pretended to know about it; I wonder what they would have thought if they could have seen my laundry operations; or, indeed, I wonder, under all their fine talk, whether they had not, of mornings, some work to do themselves. However, I only tell this from the glimpse it gave me of my new friend. “It is all very well to speak of hardships,” cried Miss Cresswell. “_I_ can’t see any hardship in doing one’s work. Ah! don’t you think they are very happy who _have_ something to do?--something they must do whether they like it or not. I hate always doing things if I like! it is the most odious, tiresome stuff! If I like! and if I like it pray, what is the good of it? It is not work any longer, it is only pleasure.” “My dear child,” said one of the old ladies, “be thankful you have so much ease and leisure. Your business just now is to please your papa.”