"I thank you," she said, looking down to the honest eyes into which great tears were crowding fast; "my mother loved you, and so do I."
"I—I'm a-trying to do my best and be a mother to you myself, now that she is dead and gone," answered Lottie, with a look of honest affection beaming over her face.
Jessie almost smiled; at which Lottie blushed like a child, and, starting to her feet, went away, closing the door softly after her.
"Can you believe this?" said Jessie, after she was gone.
"Yes," I answered. "Whatever her sources of information may be, Lottie is always correct."
"And he will dare—at her request—by her consent, perhaps—he will dare!"
She arose and walked the room, her black dress sweeping the carpet like an imperial robe.
I did not speak; anxiety kept me dumb. Was this a burst of anger that would pass away? When that man, with all his bewildering attractions, should stand before her—humble, imploring—how would it be? The hopes which had begun to dawn in my heart for young Bosworth faltered, notwithstanding this queenly manifestation of pride.
"She has sent for him indeed!" burst from those curved lips; "there is nothing humiliating in this, Aunt Matty. She invites gentlemen to my father's house and allows them to approach me. Perhaps she has found out that half this property is mine now, and sent him word."
I started. This might be true. There certainly was something inexplicable in the evident understanding between Lawrence and our guest.