“Oh, I ought to beg her pardon! For the moment I forgot. Julia, my love, will you step this way?”
Mrs. Legg came promptly at her husband’s request, and stood before the group.
“My dear Julia, this young man here is my son, Clay, whom you have never seen before. Clay, this is Mrs. Legg, my wife, your new mother. I hope you will be the best of friends!” pleaded the husband and father.
“Indeed, I hope so, too!” earnestly responded the new wife, as she held out her hand with hearty good will to her stepson.
He drew himself up stiffly and bowed, ignoring her offered hand.
John Legg noticed his manner and frowned with pain, not anger, and to cover the awkwardness, said:
“And this weeping girl on my bosom is my daughter, Lydia! She cannot speak to you yet, my dear. She has not even spoken to me, her father, whom she has not seen before for the last three years! But she will be better presently, and then I feel sure that you and she at least will be good friends.”
“Yes, indeed, John! I know we shall!” heartily responded Julia.
“Now sit down, my dear, and make yourself comfortable. You already know that I have a painful revelation to make to my son and daughter here; but as the misfortune to be spoken of was caused by no conscious complicity of theirs, it should not cause either of them too much grief, I think.”
“No, indeed! It was not their fault, so they should not mourn over it,” warmly assented Julia.