"And I," said Mrs. Dennison, with a suppressed breath, and a look of graceful sadness. "Well, well, one can't expect everything."
Jessie laughed. This bit of sentiment in her guest rather amused her.
"Ah, you never will believe in sorrow of any kind, until it comes in earnest," said the widow, with an entire change in her countenance; "but I, who have seen it in so many forms, cannot always forget."
"But," said Jessie, with one of her caressing movements, "you must forget it now. We are to be happy as the day is long while you are here. Isn't that so, aunt? We have laid out such walks, and rides, and pleasant evenings—of course, you have brought your habit."
"Of course. What would one be in the country without riding?"
"And your guitar? I want Aunt Matty to hear you sing. She never was with us when you had an instrument."
"Oh! Aunt Matty shall have enough of that, I promise her; the man who follows with my luggage has the guitar somewhere among his plunder."
"I'm very glad," said Jessie, smiling archly. "Now everything is provided for except—"
"Except what, lady-bird?"
"Except that we have no gentlemen to admire you."