"I shall be very happy," said the General, bowing to the photograph, as though it was Miss Celia herself who had expressed a desire to occupy his desk. May gave the photograph a good position on the desk, and with a bird-like tip of her head which should have revealed to the dull General that his guest was of the gentler sex, she looked first at the photograph, then at the portraits on the wall, saying,—
"Isn't it nice to have an alive woman in the room, Uncle Harold? All the portrait people are dead, aren't they? They look so."
"Yes, all are dead."
"There ought to be a frame for it," said May, with true feminine instinct. "A pretty silver frame for such a pretty silver-haired lady. We might put a little vase of flowers beside it—some roses and mignonette."
"Very appropriate, indeed," said the General, to whom a rose by the name of hollyhock or petunia would have smelled quite as sweet.
"I will get them now," cried May, rushing out of the room.
The General, left alone, wrote a brief note to a New York firm, ordering a silver frame of the handsomest design (for "a silver-haired lady"), and he fancied all the time that he was doing this to please his supposed nephew, and perhaps he was.
"I've picked some roses, Miss Sarah," cried May through the kitchen window, "for a bouquet to put beside the loveliest lady. Her photograph is on Uncle Harold's desk and he likes it ever so much."
"Where did it come from?"