"Well, if the truth must be told, I was off to Brighton by an excursion train to have a sniff of the sea air, and somehow or other we did not manage to get back till late."
"I was very uneasy and anxious about you," said Mrs. Burns, in a tone of gentle reproach.
"Oh, I'm sorry that I worried you!" exclaimed Eddy; "you're the best of good aunts, and I owe more to you I know than to any one else in the world. I may be a wild, thoughtless young fellow, but I'm not ungrateful—no; there's nothing I hate like ingratitude!"
Mrs. Burns' only answer was a kindly smile. She might have upbraided Eddy for his selfishness, his want of consideration, his neglect of all religious duties, but she felt that this was not the time for doing so.
"Where are you going to-day?" asked the aunt.
"Well, I'm off to the Pantheon to see if my photo is ready," said the lad.
"You did not tell me that you had been sitting for your likeness."
"Oh, everybody sits now-a-days," laughed Eddy, "you would not have me behind the rest of the world. If the photo turn out good you shall have it, aunt;" and the boy passed his hand through his light brown hair with a very self-satisfied look, which seemed to say, "I'm sure they'll make a good picture of a handsome young fellow like me!"
Off started Eddy for the Pantheon, not a little curious to see his own face for the first time on paper. Eddy Burns was by no means free from personal vanity. He had dressed very carefully for his sitting, put on his best waist-coat and his bright new studs for the occasion, and had spent nearly ten minutes in fastening his opera tie. Eddy was now impatient to see the result of all his dressing and study, and hurried up the Pantheon staircase with all the eagerness of a child. When he reached the photograph stall, the youth could not wait until those who had come before him were served; he pushed himself forward, and kept demanding his picture as if every moment of his time were precious.
"What an age the woman takes in looking over her little packets," muttered Eddy.