Then G. G.'s mother leaned forward and took both of Cynthia's hands in hers.
"I don't wonder at him," she said—"I don't. I was ever so jealous of you, but I'm not any more. I think you're the dearest girl!"
"Oh!" cried Cynthia. "I am so glad! But will G. G.'s father like me too?"
"He has never yet failed," said G. G.'s mother, "to like with his whole heart anything that was stainless and beautiful."
"Is he like G. G.?"
"He has the same beautiful round head, but he has a rugged look that G. G. will never have. He has a lion look. He might have been a terrible tyrant if he hadn't happened, instead, to be a saint."
And she showed Cynthia, side by side, pictures of the father and the boy.
"They have such valiant eyes!" said Cynthia.
"There is nothing base in my young men," said G. G.'s mother.