He spoke in a tone so surprised and grieved that Georgia was touched. Forcing a smile, she looked up in his grave face, and said:
"Oh, Richmond, I did not mean to hurt your feelings; forgive me if I have done so. I will try to like all your friends, because they are yours. I will try to tutor this undisciplined heart, and be all you could wish. It startled me at first, that is all. It was so pleasant here, with no one but ourselves, and I was so happy since our return, that I forgot it could not always last. Yes, indeed, Richmond, I will like your mother and cousin, and try to be as urbane and courteous to all our guests as even you are. Am I forgiven now, Richmond?"
Half an hour later, Georgia was alone in her own room, lying prostrate on a couch, with her face buried in the cushions, perfectly still, but for the sort of shiver that ran at intervals through her slight frame. It was their first quarrel, or anything approaching a quarrel, and Georgia had been crushed, wounded, and humiliated, as she had never been before in her life. It may seem a slight thing; but in her pride she was so acutely sensitive, that now she lay in a sort of anguish, with her hands clasped over her heart, as if to still its tumultuous throbbings, looking forward with a dread that was almost horror to the coming of all those strangers, but more than all, to the coming of her husband's mother and cousin.
All that day she was changed, and was as haughty and self-possessed as any of those fine ladies, her husband's friends. The calm, dignified politeness of Mrs. Hamm looked like impudence to her in her present mood, and when that frigid little lady came to ask about dinner, there were two burning spots on Georgia's cheeks, and a high, ringing tone of command in her voice that made Mrs. Hamm open her languid eyes in faint amaze, which was as far as she could ever go in the way of astonishment.
Late that evening, as she sat in the drawing-room, practicing her music lesson,—for she was learning music now,—Emily Murray was announced, and the next moment, bright, breezy, smiling, and sunshiny, she came dancing in, like an embodied sunbeam.
"Mother's been over spending the afternoon with Miss Jerusha," said Emily, "and I felt so lonesome at home that I overcame my awe of Richmond House and its grand inmates, and thought I would run up and see you. Hope, like Paul Pry, I do not intrude?"
Georgia's reply was a kiss. She had been feeling so sad all day that her heart gave a glad bound at sight of Emily.
"Why, what's the matter, Georgie? You look pale and troubled. What has happened?" said Emily, her affectionate eyes discovering the change in her friend's tell-tale face.
"Nothing; at least, not much. I am a little out of spirits to-day; everyone is at times," said Georgia, with a faint smile. "My moods were always changeable, you know."
"Well, I hope you will not acquire that anxious, worried look most housekeepers wear," said Emily, gayly. "You have it exactly now, and it quite spoils your beauty. Come, smile and look pleasant, and tell me all about your journey to New York. Did you have a good time?"