“Lavinia,” she said, “how should you like to stay with me?”
“Stay with you—my dear?” The little woman stood stock-still, the dress skirt she was about to put on, in her hand.
“Yes,—keep house for me in Boston.”
“Why, Lavinia, it would be heaven—but, how can I!”
“Why can’t you? It is only to give up a few rooms in somebody else’s house. You’re quite alone.”
“I suppose I am,” replied Lavinia slowly, “but somehow I never realize it.”
What a wealth of implication lay in the simple words! Mrs. Bruce could not appreciate that, but she persisted in her plan, which had been gradually taking form for days.
A capable, useful, refined admirer was what her beaten and dependent soul yearned for.
Tears dimmed Lavinia’s eyes when at last she accepted the offer.
“Laura!” she exclaimed, with touching sincerity, “you have been planning this beautiful thing for me! That is why Irving brought me here. Dear Irving, always so courteous, he has been, to your relatives! Dear Laura, when do you ever take time to think of yourself!”