Suddenly recollecting that Pearl's mother was to meet her at the new home at ten she hastened away.
"Everything was perfect in the new home," was Mrs. Hamilton's conclusion, as with Lillian she walked from room to room. "Not massive and oppressive with a superabundance of heavy carvings and marble, but bright and cheerful in its display of luxury and beauty. Your taste is good, my daughter, and I think Pearl will commend it."
While at the tea-table that night a letter was brought in for Lillian. "From George," she said, breaking the seal. "A long one for an invalid certainly," and she unfolded the well-filled sheet and began its perusal. Finishing the first page she laid it upon her lap and folded her hand over it.
"Well," she said at length; then perceiving that her uncle and aunt were gazing quizzingly at her; "wonders are multiplying!" and she recommenced its perusal.
"Do stop her, wife, and make her tell what it is that brings such a queer look into her face! If I were a woman; but pshaw!" The wife laughed.
"In just one moment, Uncle," and Lillian turned the page. "He is nearly well, and—yes—he will accept my invitation to be here in Christmas week with his bride!"
"Hurrah! Another southern aristocrat mixing up with northern plebeianism I reckon! What's that quotation, wife? 'To be seen is to be loved?'"
"No, no! You are talking about vice! 'To be hated needs only to be seen.' But this is a wife!"
"O, well I never could remember poetry. George to be married! All right! I will give him welcome to his miseries! But who is the fair one?"
"The daughter of the widow with whom they are staying; one fully worthy to bear the honored name of St. Clair. So he writes."