"Oh!" Hanny gave it a glad little sound, and smiled, as she put out her small hand. Mrs. Kirtland took the unoccupied seat. "I suppose you have hardly begun life, you look so young. But no doubt you are a genius of some sort. Mrs. Osgood is so extraordinarily good to young geniuses." "No, I haven't any genius," and Hanny flushed, as she gave a beguiling smile that lighted up her face. "And though there are a good many of us, we have not even a family genius." "That depends upon whether you restrict the word to painting a picture or writing a poem or a story. Mr. Stephen Underhill is very highly spoken of as one of the promising young business-men. And is it your brother who was in the office of old Dr. Fitch, and in the hospital?" "Yes, ma'am," returned Hanny, with a glow of pleasure. Young people were still expected to say "Yes, sir," and "Yes, ma'am," to their elders, out of respect. "That does very well for one family, though the Whitneys seem to have a good share. Miss Delia is quite a success, I hear. And we always find Mr. Whitney very entertaining. Have you known them long?" "Oh, for years, seven almost. And we used to be neighbours." "A friendship is said to be certain when you have held it seven years. Have you met Mrs. Osgood before?" "No, ma'am; but I saw her quite a long while ago at Fordham." "At Fordham! Then you must have known the poet Edgar Allan Poe." "A little," returned Hanny, timidly. "There's such a romance to his life at that place,--his lovely young wife dying, and the devotion of Mrs. Clemm. Oh, tell me about your episode!" Hanny told the story, very simply, charmingly as well. "Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Kirtland, "Frances must hear that!" Then she glanced around. Mrs. Osgood was no longer receiving guests, but mingling with the company. Some one was going to the piano; and everybody listened to an exquisite voice singing a beautiful Italian melody. When that was finished, a young man who was to be famous in after years read a sweet, simple poem that touched every one's heart. Then the talk began in little groups again. Mrs. Kirtland signalled to her hostess, who came over to them. "Frances," she said, "here is a youthful worshipper who remembers you as a lovely lady all in cerulean blue, and with long curls, going up to the Poe cottage. See how you have lived in the child's memory. And she sings a song of yours." Hanny's face was scarlet for a moment; but Mrs. Osgood sat down beside her, and they talked of the poet and Mrs. Clemm, and touched lightly upon the sad after-happenings. He had at one time been a frequent guest. There was even yet a deep interest in him, though opinion was sharply divided. And Mrs. Osgood had known the beautiful Virginia, whose sad fate even then was hardly realised. They talked a little about "Annabel Lee" and the "high-born kinsman;" and Hanny thought she had a delightful time.