the gentlewoman remarked coldly, leaning back in her carriage.

Her look, tone, and action stung Mildred to the very quick. Gentle
and retiring usually, she was capable of a very decided and even an
aggressive course under great provocation. For a moment her warm
Southern blood boiled at Mrs. Arnold's implication that she was
so eager to capture her wealthy son that it was not prudent to
leave them alone together a moment. With decision and the dignity
of conscious innocence she said, "Good-morning, Mr. Arnold"; then
taking little Minnie's hand and calling Fred she led the way toward
the house. It happened that the only path of egress led her by the
carriage, and the manner in which its occupant ignored her presence
was so intolerable in its injustice that she paused, and, fixing
her clear, indignant eyes on the flushed, proud face before her,
asked, in tones never forgotten by those who heard them, "Mrs.
Arnold, wherein have I wronged you or yours?"

The lady was silent and a little embarrassed.

"I know, and you might know," Mildred continued, "if you chose,
that you cannot charge me with one unwomanly act, but your look
and manner toward me are both unwomanly and unchristian. You insult
me in my poverty and misfortune. Without the shadow of right or
reason, you cruelly wound one who was wounded already;" and she
was about to pass on.

"Mother, as you are a woman, do not let her go without a word of
respect and kindness," cried her son, in a hoarse, stifled voice.

"Miss Jocelyn," began Mrs. Arnold in a constrained tone, "I mean