Down went her face into the circle of her chubby arm.
"Mary, don't cry, please don't cry!" entreated George with a suspicious break in his own voice. "I like you the very same, the very same, and I'm just as I was, Mary. Truly I am."
Perceiving with distress that the little maid's plump shoulders still shook with grief, George regarded her uncertainly for a moment, then hurried across to Mrs. Byron, who sat busily writing at her desk.
"Mother," he inquired anxiously, "do you see any difference in me since I have been made a lord?"
"No," replied she, laughing, without looking up, "certainly not."
"There! I told you!" he exclaimed triumphantly, returning to the side of his sorrowful guest. "You will believe mother, won't you?"
A nod of the head against the pinafore sleeve rewarded him. Then from the depths of the elbow came in a choking voice,—
"But, George, you are going away!"
"Yes," he returned sadly, "I am going away."
A fresh outburst of weeping greeted his admission, and at his wits' end for means to comfort the little woman, he declared,—