Miss Rossiter’s handkerchief was at her eyes, and her voice trembled as she spoke. But Godfrey did not reply at once, and when he did, he said: “I did not suppose you’d care to have that bedstead in your room, or you should have had it. Perhaps I can manage it yet.” “No, no, I beg; let it be as it is. I can bear it,” Miss Rossiter said, with the air of a martyr, while all the time she knew that no amount of money could induce her to sleep on a bed where she had seen a person die. She would not confess that she was superstitious, but she was, and until this moment, when the desire to find fault with something was strong within her, it had never occurred to her that she wanted the furniture for her own use. She merely did not wish it removed for her sister’s successor. If it had been good enough for a Rossiter it surely was good enough for Edith Lyle, and in addition to all this, it hurt her to know that common people like Mrs. Rogers and her daughter were to stretch their democratic bodies on a bed where Emily’s aristocratic limbs had once reposed. With her handkerchief to her eyes there fell a chill on the spirits of the young people, who sat silent until Godfrey said, suddenly: “By the way, girls, I’ve not told you a word about Bob Macpherson, the artist. I meant to bring him up with me, but he was so much absorbed in the galleries and studios that he decided to wait a little. You are sure to like him.” “Where did you pick him up?” Julia asked; and Godfrey replied: “In Rome. I wrote about it at the time. He is an artist from pure love of it rather than necessity, for he has money enough and comes of a good Scotch family.” “Didn’t you write us there was a title in it?” Julia asked. “Yes; but several removes from Bob, though. I fancied that his father married beneath him, for Bob never says a word about his friends on the maternal side. He went to see them, though, up in Scotland somewhere, and when he came to Oakwood he was awful blue and silent for days, and doubtful about coming to America, but he got over that. He wants to paint some of our American views, and surely he could not select a better point on the Hudson than Hampstead. I hope he will come soon. I’m lost without him.” What Godfrey liked he liked heartily, and he went on lauding Robert Macpherson until his hearers grew tired of it and asked him to talk of something else. Meantime Edith had gone to her room, where her husband left her while he looked over the letters and documents which had been accumulating for a week or more. As he went out Norah came in to attend her mistress. “Get me my dressing-gown and brushes, and then you can go. I shall not need you any more. I am going to sit up awhile,” Edith said; and after her maid was gone she arose, and walking to the long mirror, stood looking at the image it revealed of a beautiful lady, clad in heavy silk, with jewels on neck and arms and in her shining hair.