“She’s ashamed of me,” and the chin quivered as the white lips whispered it. “She wants me out of the way for fear I’ll do something to mortify her. Oh, ’Lina, ’Lina, I’m glad I’ve got one child who is not ashamed of his mother,” and the tears dropped like rain upon the table, as Mrs. Worthington remembered Hugh, longing for him so much, and reproaching herself so bitterly for having consented to receive Alice Johnson without even consulting him. “I’ll write to-night,” she said. “I’ll confess the whole,” and glad of something to occupy her mind, Mrs. Worthington took out her writing materials, and commenced the letter, which should have been written long before. Meantime the doctor and ’Lina were walking up and down the long piazza, chatting gayly, and attracting much attention from ’Lina’s loud manner of talking and laughing. “By the way, I’ve called on Miss Johnson, at the Columbian,” she said. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” “Ra-ather pretty, some would think,” and the doctor had an uncomfortable consciousness of the refusal, in his vest pocket. If Alice had told; but no, he knew her better than that. He could trust her on that score, and so the dastardly coward affected to sneer at what he called her primness, charging ’Lina to be careful what she did, if she did not want a lecture, and asking if there were any ragged children in Kentucky, as she would not be happy unless she was running a Sunday school! “She can teach the negroes! Capital!” and ’Lina laughed so loudly that Mrs. Richards joined them, laughing, too, at what she did not know, only “Miss Worthington had such spirits; it did one good; and she wished Anna was there to be enlivened. Write to her John, won’t you?” John mentally thought it doubtful. Anna and ’Lina would never assimilate, and he would rather not have his pet sister’s opinion to combat until his own was fully made up. As it was growing rather late Mrs. Richards ere long expressed a wish to retire, and hoping to see more of Miss Worthington to-morrow, she bowed good night, and left the doctor alone with ’Lina. But, somehow, he did not get on well without his mother. There was nothing in common between himself and ’Lina, except deception. She had read but little, and only talked well on commonplace matters, of which he soon grew tired. But she was rich, and perfectly willing to be admired by him, so he put aside his weariness, and chatted with her until the parlors were deserted, and the servants came to extinguish some of the burners. “She had no idea it was so late, or she would not have staid for anything. He must excuse her. What would mamma think?” and bidding him good night, ’Lina hurried up to where mamma sat waiting for her, the traces of tears still on her patient face, which looked white and worn.