Mrs. Morrell turned smilingly to the beautiful girl.
"Miss Allandale is doubly welcome, for her own sake, as well as yours," was her gracious response, as she clasped Edith's hand, and if she experienced any surprise at thus having an utter stranger thrust upon her hospitality at that hour, she betrayed none, but proceeded at once to help her remove her hat and wraps.
Tears sprang to the eyes of the homeless girl at this cordial reception, and her lips quivered with repressed emotion as she thanked the gentle lady for it.
"What was that Roy was saying—that you have come from Boston this afternoon?" queried Mrs. Morrell, hastening to cover her embarrassment by changing the subject. "Then you must be nearly famished, and you must have a lunch before you go to rest."
"Pray, do not trouble yourself—" Edith began.
"Please let me—I like such 'trouble,' as you are pleased to term it," smilingly interposed the pretty hostess; and with a bright nod and a hurried "excuse me," she was gone before Edith could make further objections.
"Nellie is the most hospitable little woman in the universe," Mr. Bryant remarked, as the door closed after her; "she is never so happy as when she is feeding the hungry or making somebody comfortable."
Fifteen minutes later she reappeared, a lovely flush on her round cheeks, her eyes bright with the pleasure she experienced in doing a kind act for the young stranger, toward whom she had been instantly attracted.
"Come, now," she said, holding out a hand to her, "and I know Roy will join us—he never yet refused a cup of tea of my own brewing."
"You are right, Nellie," smilingly replied that gentleman; "and I believe I am hungry, in spite of my hearty dinner at six o'clock. A ride over the pavements of New York will prepare almost any one for an extra meal. I only hope you have a slice of Aunt Janes's old-fashioned gingerbread for me."