In every motion and feeling Amy Amber was a little lady—from her stylish dress to the daintiest little bonnet, to her gloves that clung closer to her small short hands than they had clung to the bodies of the rodents from which they came. She did not have much experience, and therefore was ignorant of some of the small ways and customs of the higher social strata. But such knowledge is not essential to ladyhood, though half ladies think themselves whole ladies because they have it. To become ladies indeed, they have to learn what those things and the knowledge of them are really worth. Another way in which Amy was unlike many who would have counted themselves her superiors—she was incapable of being disagreeable. Without knowing it, she held the main secret of all good manners—she was simple. She never put anything on, never wished to appear anything other than what she was. She tried to be pleasant.

She got into an omnibus and found Addison Square and the Raymount house. It looked dingy and dull—for many of its shutters were closed—and held an indescribable air of departure about it. Nevertheless, she knocked and the door was opened. She asked if Miss Raymount was at home.

Now Sarah, with most of the good qualities of an old trustworthy family-servant, had all the faults as well, and one or two besides. She had not been to Burcliff, consequently did not know Amy. Many householders have not an idea how abominably the servants they count patterns of excellence comport themselves to those even to whom special attention is owing.

“They are all out of town, miss,” replied Sarah, “—except Mr. Cornelius, of course.”

At that moment Mr. Cornelius, on his way to go out, stepped on the landing of the stair and stood for an instant looking down into the hall, wondering who might be at the door. He could not see Amy’s face, and had he seen it, I doubt if he would have recognized her, but the moment he heard her voice he knew it, and hurried down, his face in a glow of pleasure. But as he drew near, the change in her seemed to him so great that he could hardly believe with his eyes what his ears had told him.

From the first, Corney, like everyone else of the family, was taken with Amy, and Amy was not less than a little taken with him. He was good-looking and, except with his own people, ready enough to make himself agreeable. Amy’s face beamed with pleasure at the sight of him, and she almost involuntarily stepped within the door to meet him.

“Amy! Who would have thought of seeing you here? When did you come to town?” he asked, shaking her hand.

“I have been in London a long time,” she answered.

Corney thought she indeed looked as if she had.