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DURING the time we have been introducing Georgie
Burton, poor Charlie lay in the little reception-room
below, with the terrible bruises on his face, and the
night fell darkly around Leighton Place, and the stars came
out and looked down into the open grave, where, early the
next morning, they buried the young man who had been the
darling of his mother, and a sad trial in so many ways to his
only brother.

But Roy forgot all that now; and, as he lay helpless upon
his bed and heard the roll of wheels which carried Charlie
away, he wept like a child, and wished so much that no harsh
word had ever been spoken by him to the boy whose face he
would never see again.

And then his thoughts went after the young girl who had
been Charlie's wife for only a few short hours. He could
be kind to her, and he would, for Charlie's sake, and thus
atone for any undue severity he might have shown his
brother.

“As soon as I am able, I will go after her, and bring her
home with me,” he said to himself, and he tried to recall her
face as he had seen it in the car, wondering if he should
know her.

She had curls, he knew; for he remembered just how they
were tossed about by the wind; and her eyes were large, and
bright, and brown he thought, though he was not positive.
At all events, they were handsome eyes, and he believed
Edna was handsome, too; and perhaps he should like her
very much. And then, as he heard a sweet, cooing voice in
the hall, telling Mrs. Churchill's maid that her mistress
wanted her, he found himself wondering how Georgie and

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Edna would suit each other in case it came about that both
should live at Leighton. He had heard so much said with
regard to his making Miss Burton his wife, that he had come
to think he might possibly do so some day, but there was no
special cause for haste; at least, there had been none up to
the present time. But if Edna came there to live, he felt
that it might be well to have a younger mistress in the house,—
one who would brighten up matters, and make life a little
gayer than his mother, with her old-fashioned, quiet ways,
was inclined to do.

Could Roy have had his choice he would rather not have
had a change, for he greatly enjoyed his present mode of living,
and his entire freedom to do as he pleased without consulting
the wishes of any one. And yet he was not naturally
selfish. He had only grown so from living so much alone
with his mother and having all his tastes consulted and deferred
to. A wife would have made a far different man of
him, and have found him the kindest, most thoughtful of husbands.
He had liked Georgie since she first came to Oakwood,
and he thought her very kind and self-sacrificing to
leave her own matters and come there to comfort his mother,
who, as soon as the funeral was over, went to her bed, where
she was cared for by Georgie with a daughter's tenderness.

When at last quiet had settled around the house, and the
day was drawing to a close, Georgie left her patient for a
little and went to see how it fared with Roy. His limb was
paining him more than usual, for a storm was gathering, and
the day had been long and trying, with no one to talk to but
Russell and the doctor. Thus Georgie's visit was well timed,
and she had never seemed so lovely to Roy, even when
arrayed in full party splendor, as she did now in her plain
dress of black alpaca, with a simple white linen band at her
throat and linen cuffs at her wrist. She had dressed thus in
honor of Charlie's funeral, and in her nun-like garb she

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seemed to belong to the house and be a part of the family.
Her curls were put up under a net, but one or two of them
had escaped from their confinement and almost touched
Roy's face as she bent over him asking how he felt and what
she could do for him.

She made his pillow more comfortable and pulled the covering
smoothly around him, and pushed back a stray lock of
hair which persisted in falling into his eyes, and made him
feel so much better that by the time she had seated herself
in the chair by his side he was nearer to speaking the words
she had waited so long to hear than he had ever been before.
But first he would talk with her a little about Edna, and see
what she thought of his going after her or sending for her to
come at once. Georgie, however, did not approve of Edna's
coming. “Under some circumstances it would be very
pleasant for you to have her here, and it would be so nice
for Edna,” she said in her softest, mellowest tones, “but just
at present I do not believe it is best. Your mother is too
much grieved and crushed to reason correctly on anything,
and I fear the presence of Charlie's wife would make her
very wretched. She cannot help it, I dare say, but she
charges Charlie's death to Edna, and under these circumstances
neither could at present be happy with the other.
By and by it will be different of course, and then it may be
well to consider the matter again. Pardon me, Mr. Leighton,
if I have said too much, but your mother is so brokenhearted
that I would not for the world have a drop added to
her cup of sorrow. I am so sorry for Edna too. Poor girl!
but she is young, you know, and can bear it better.”

Georgie was very gentle, and her voice had trembled just
as much when speaking of Edna as when talking of his
mother, and Roy was wholly convinced, and thought it might
be better not to send for Edna, but let his mother have time
to overcome her aversion to the girl.

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It was better also to give himself a little longer space of
freedom as a bachelor; for if Edna did not come, there was
no immediate necessity for him to take a wife to make the
house inviting. He and his mother could still live on in
their quiet way, which he enjoyed so much, and felt that he
enjoyed all the more from the fact that he had come so near
losing it; so he did not speak to Georgie then, but it was
arranged that when she went to Chicago she should find
Edna, and do for her whatever needed to be done, and ascertain
if she cared to come to Leighton.

“I must trust it all to your management, for I am helpless
myself,” Roy said, offering his hand to Georgie, as she arose
to leave the room. “Try and overcome mother's prejudice
against Edna, won't you? Women have a way of doing
these things which men know nothing about. Mother thinks
the world of you; so do your best to bring her round, will
you?”

Georgie's hand, though not very small, was soft, and white,
and pretty, and Roy involuntarily pressed it a little, as he
asked its owner to “try and bring his mother round.”

And Georgie promised that she would, and then went
away from Roy, who, in the gathering twilight, tried to imagine
how the house would seem with that queenly woman there
as its mistress, and while speculating upon it fell asleep, and
dreamed that Edna Browning was freezing him to death with
open windows, and tying a poke bonnet under his chin.

p595-049

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