," answered Mary, with a little spiritual shiver as of
one who had dropped a pearl in the miry way.

"I never heard of him," rejoined Hesper, with entire indifference.

For anything she knew, he might be an occasional writer in "The
Belgrave Magazine," or "The Fireside Herald." Ignorance is one of the
many things of which a lady of position is never ashamed; wherein she
is, it may be, more right than most of my readers will be inclined to
allow; for ignorance is not the thing to be ashamed of, but neglect of
knowledge. That a young person in Mary's position should know a certain
thing, was, on the other hand, a reason why a lady in Hesper's position
should not know it! Was it possible a shop-girl should know anything
that Hesper ought to know and did not? It was foolish of Mary, perhaps,
but she had vaguely felt that a beautiful lady like Miss Mortimer, and
with such a name as Hesper, must know all the lovely things she knew,
and many more besides.

"He lived in the time of the Charleses," she said, with a tremble in
her voice, for she was ashamed to show her knowledge against the
other's ignorance.

"Ah!" drawled Hesper, with a confused feeling that people who kept
shops read stupid old books that lay about, because they could not
subscribe to a circulating library.--"Are you fond of poetry?" she
added; for the slight, shadowy shyness, into which her venture had
thrown Mary, drew her heart a little, though she hardly knew it, and
inclined her to say something.

"Yes," answered Mary, who felt like a child questioned by a stranger in
the road; "--when it is good," she added, hesitatingly.

"What do you mean by good?" asked Hesper--out of her knowledge, Mary
thought, but it was not even out of her ignorance, only out of her
indifference. People must say something, lest life should stop.

"That is a question difficult to answer," replied Mary. "I have often
asked it of myself, but never got any plain answer."

"I do not see why you should find any difficulty in it," returned
Hesper, with a shadow of interest. "You know what you mean when you say
to yourself you like this, or you do not like that."

"How clever she is, too!" thought Mary; but she answered: "I don't
think I ever say anything to myself about the poetry I read--not at the
time, I mean. If I like it, it drowns me; and, if I don't like it, it
is as the Dead Sea to me, in which you know you can't sink, if you try
ever so."

Hesper saw nothing in the w