"Yes, if he has ever acknowledged her as his wife, or allowed it to be assumed that she was, the child is entitled to the name," returned her lover. Then, as the carriage stopped, he added: "But here we are, my darling and I am sure you must be very weary after your long journey."
"Yes, I am tired, but very, very happy," the fair girl replied, looking up into his face with a sigh of content.
He smiled fondly upon her as he led her up the steps of a modest but pretty house, between the draperies at the windows of which there streamed a cheerful light.
"Well, we will soon have you settled in a cozy room where you can rest to your heart's content," he remarked, and at the same time touching the electric button by his side.
"Really, Mr. Bryant, I cannot help feeling guilty to intrude upon an entire stranger at this time of night," Edith observed, in a troubled tone.
"You need not, dear, for I assure you Nellie will be delighted; but"—bending over her with a roguish laugh—"Mr. Bryant does not enjoy being addressed with so much formality by his fiancee. The name I love best—Roy—my mother gave me when I was a boy, and I want always to hear it from your lips after this."
A servant admitted them just at that moment, and upon responding to Mr. Bryant's inquiry, said that Mrs. Morrell was at home, and ushered them at once to her pretty parlor.
Presently the young hostess—a lady of perhaps twenty-five years—made her appearance and greeted her cousin With great cordiality.
"You know I am always glad to see you, Roy," she said, giving him both her hands and putting up her red lips for a cousinly kiss.
"I know you always make a fellow feel very welcome," said the young man, smiling. "And, Nellie, this is Miss Edith Allandale; she has just arrived from Boston, and I am going to ask you to receive her as your guest for a few days," he concluded, thus introducing Edith.