“We are very happy to see you, Mr. Harcourt. This is my daughter Betty. I think you have never met her before. Betty, dear, this is Mrs. Harcourt’s son,” said Mrs. Wynthrop, cordially shaking hands with the visitor, and presenting him to her younger daughter. The young man bowed to the young girl, who seemed in face and form only a fairer and more delicate repetition of her mother and elder sister. “Take this armchair in the chimney corner, Mr. Harcourt,” said Margaret. “But take off your overcoat first. Frankly, you are not looking in good health. You must be careful of yourself at this season of the year, when the changes are so sudden. Harcourt thanked his counselor, and obeyed her. When he was seated he again expressed his warm gratitude to Mrs. Wynthrop for her kindness to his aged and infirm mother. Mrs. Wynthrop, in turn, assured him of the pleasure she and all her family had taken in doing all that they had been able to do for Mrs. Harcourt. “And the house is so large. We have so much space. Why, you know, of course, that we have three distinct garrets, one over each part of this threefold house. The two largest I had made into bedrooms for the boys. They made four rooms. The smaller—which, by the way, is large enough in all conscience—I keep for our lumber room.” “Our ‘chamber of desolation,’ I call it, Mr. Harcourt,” said Betty. “Every house must have its ‘chamber of desolation,’” added Mrs. Wynthrop, “but really, I think the empty rooms are the most desolate of all. They are like bodies without souls. And now that my three youngest girls are at school at Northampton, two of the younger lads at college, and two of the elder boys have gone into the dry goods business in Washington city, the old house is more than half unoccupied.” “I proposed to mamma to take summer boarders this season,” said Margaret with a light laugh. And in this seeming jest the girl had a serious and benevolent purpose. She felt how necessary it was that the aged gentlewoman should remain in peaceable possession of her room and her illusions; and she knew enough of the morbid pride and sensitiveness of the family to feel that young Harcourt could never bend his spirit to leave his infirm mother a dependent on their hospitality; and also that he—judging them by himself—would hesitate to propose to pay board for her, lest he should give offense. Feeling and knowing all this, the kind-hearted and practical girl prepared his way with a jest. Without suspecting her humane purpose, he followed immediately where she wished to lead, and said, still with some faltering: “I wish—oh! I do wish—it would be such a blessing to my dear mother—that you would take her as a permanent boarder.” “Mrs. Harcourt is most welcome to us. She will always be welcome, either as a visitor or boarder, whichever you please, and just as long as she likes. She is so happy here in her old home,” said Mrs. Wynthrop pleasantly.