“Oh, I’m too lazy to move. Go and find another partner,” she laughed. “But I’m not acquainted with any of the girls here.” “Otho, go along and introduce him to some girls, and I’ll stay with Floy and tell her about my lovely trip to Europe last year.” Beresford, disappointed in a faint hope that she might have proffered Floy to him as a partner, went away with Otho, and Maybelle made herself agreeable to her companion. At last she observed, patronizingly: “You’ve never been _anywhere_, have you, Floy?” “Not since mamma brought me a little girl back to the farm,” Floy answered, flushing sensitively, for she felt the sting in Maybelle’s patronizing tone. But the latter continued, gently and purringly: “It’s too bad your having to stay with those poor, hard-working people, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you like to support yourself, Floy?” “I should not know how to earn a penny,” murmured Floy, who was like the naughty Brier-Rose of the poem: “Whene’er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied, She shook her head in warning and scarce her wrath could hide; For girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and loom, And not to drink the sunshine and the flowers’ sweet perfume. “But out she skipped the meadows o’er and gazed into the sky, Her heart o’erbrimmed with gladness, she scarce herself knew why; And to a merry tune she hummed: ‘Oh, Heaven only knows Whatever will become of the naughty Brier-Rose?’” “Suppose I tell you what papa was saying about you last night?” continued Maybelle. “Yes,” Floy answered, helplessly. “He was saying that he needed two new salesgirls in his big dry-goods store in New York, and he wondered if any girls in Mount Vernon would like to go. He said he had thought of you, and that maybe old John Banks would be glad to have you find a situation and help earn your own living.” Floy reddened, paled, then gasped: “I don’t believe Uncle John would like it at all. He loves me--he and auntie--and he doesn’t mind taking care of me.” “But you’ll tell him of this offer, won’t you, dear, and you’ll think of it yourself? Papa says he’ll keep the place open a week for you,” said Maybelle, who had suggested the plan to Mr. Maury herself. “I’ll tell Uncle John,” promised Floy; but she seemed tongue-tied after that, and went moodily away from Maybelle’s vicinity to join some other girls, keeping so resolutely away that they did not meet again until that afternoon, when most of the dancers were resting after dinner on the banks of the beautiful river. At heart Floy was cruelly wounded by Maybelle’s patronizing, but she was too proud to show her pain. Once St. George Beresford ventured to seek her for a partner in the dance, but she refused so curtly that he turned away indignantly, wondering why she was so cold to him while so kind to others. “She has plenty of smiles for that shallow Otho. I’d like to wring his little black neck!” he thought, angrily.