CHAPTER XIX.
MY DAUGHTERS.
THE room to which Judge Burnham presently escorted his bride was very unlike that parlor. As she looked about her, on the exquisite air of beauty which prevailed, and the evidences of refined and cultured taste, scattered with lavish hand, she was touched with the thought that her tastes had been understood and remembered, in each minute detail.
“How very lovely this is!” she said, as her foot rested on the soft velvet carpet, with its wildwood vines trailing in rich colors over the floor.
“I knew you would like it,” Judge Burnham said, with a gratified smile. “It reminded me of you, and, indeed, the entire room has seemed to me to be full of your presence. I enjoyed arranging it. I think I could have gratified your tastes in regard to the rest of the house, Ruth, if you had let me.”
“Oh, I know you could,” she answered, earnestly. “It was not that I did not trust your taste—and perhaps I made a mistake; but I meant it right, and you must help me to bring right out of it.”
She did not realize it, but this little concession to his possible better judgment helped her husband wonderfully.