"Well, you hurry up and get tea; fly round now, will you? Oh, here comes Georgey. Why, Georgey! don't you know who this is?"
Georgia gave a start of surprise, and her face darkened as she entered and saw him sitting there so much at home.
Passing him with a distant courtesy she said, with marked coldness:
"I have that pleasure. Fly, attend to your baking; I'll set the table."
Miss Jerusha was too well accustomed to the varying moods of her ward to be much surprised at this capricious conduct; so she entered into conversation with Richmond, or rather began a racking cross examination as to what he had been doing, where he had been, what he was going to do, and how the last five years had been spent generally.
To all her questions Mr. Wildair replied with the utmost politeness, but—he told her just as much as he chose and no more. From this she learned that he had been studying for the bar, and had been admitted, that his career hitherto had been eminently successful, that his uncle's death had rendered him independent of his profession, but that having a passion for that pursuit he was still determined to continue it; that his brother's health remaining delicate, change of scene had been recommended, and that therefore he had gone abroad and was not expected home for a year yet; that a desire to fit up and refurnish the "House," as it was called, par excellence, in Burnfield, was the sole cause of his leaving Washington—where for the past five years he had mostly resided—and finally, that his stay in this flourishing township "depended on circumstances."
It was late that evening when he went away. Georgia had listened, and, except to Fly, had not spoken half a dozen words, still wrapped in her mantel of proud reserve. She stood at the window when he was gone, looking out at the dark, flowing waves.
"Nice young man," said Miss Jerusha, approvingly, referring to her guest.
There was no answer.
"Good-lookin', too," pursued Miss Jerusha, looking reflectively at Betsey Periwinkle, "and rich. Hem! I say, Georgia—you're fond of money—wouldn't it be pleasant if you was to be mistress bime-by of the big house—hey?"