me, but she seemed to think that our
life was so different to theirs--that we were poor people, and that
they had nothing in common with us, and that it was better not to be
friends. Somehow, it made me feel all at once how shabby and
commonplace one's life really was."

Mrs. Trafford sighed, but there was no reproach in her voice. "Yes,
dear; I understand, it is quite natural, and I should have felt the
same at your age. I wish, for your sake, my darling, that things were
different; but Crystal is very wise and right in trying to make you
understand the barrier between Erle Huntingdon and us."

"But, mother," with a burning face, "we are gentlefolk; surely it does
not matter so much that we are poor."

"The world would not indorse that, Fern," replied her mother, gently;
"it is apt to turn a cold shoulder to genteel poverty. The hardest lot
in life, in my opinion, is the life of a poor gentlewoman."

"But Mr. Erle does not look down upon us," persisted Fern, "or he
would not come so often. He always says that no room in Belgrave House
is so home-like as this room, and that he is happier here than in the
houses of his grand friends."

A troubled look came to the mother's face, and involuntarily she
pressed her child closer to her, as though to defend her from some
threatened danger, and her voice was not quite so clear as usual as
she answered:

"It is Erle's nature to say pleasant things. He is a gentlemanly,
kind-hearted fellow, and I am sure that we all like him very much; but
I should not care for my little daughter to see too much of him. Erle
Huntingdon is not the friend I would choose for you, Fern."

"But, mother"--opening her eyes widely at this--"if we like him, why
should we not be friends?"

Mrs. Trafford hesitated; she hardly liked to disturb Fern's mind, and
yet she wished to put her on her guard.

"You see, Fern," she answered, with assumed lightness, "we are poor
people--very poor people; we have to work for our bread, and to be
content with simple fare; but my young cousin Erle is rich--he will be
his uncle's heir one day, and, no doubt, he will marry some rich,
handsome girl. All the world is before him; he has only to look round
him and choose, like the prince in a fairy story. You may be sure
there is some gay young princess waiting for him somewhere. Are you
cold, my darling?" for Fern shivered a little.

"We have let the fire get rather low," returned Fern, jumping up to
replenish it;