The old kind face in the old corner; the pleasant, familiar, son’s voice discoursing of old household things which no one else knew as he did. Mrs Buchanan wondered at herself how she could ever tolerate another—could ever dream that any but he might be the future son.
CHAPTER XV.
Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love
Accompany your hearts!—Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“Is it to be, Helen?” asked Lilias.
A sudden gravity floated over the lurking laughter in Helen’s eye.
“Is what to be, Lilias?”
The Lily of Mossgray was almost gay now. She put her hands on her friend’s shoulders, and looked with a smile into her face.
“Because Mossgray particularly desires to know. He will ask you the question himself if you do not tell me, Helen.”
Helen drew away the gentle hands.
“You have told me very little about your new mother, Lilias. Is she indeed the Miss Lucy of Murrayshaugh—Isabell Brown’s young lady?”