“_This_ ’Lena’s!” interrupted Carrie, ere her mother had time to reply. “It’s the very best chamber in the house—Brussels carpets, marble and rosewood furniture, damask curtains. Why, she’ll hardly know how to act,” she continued, half unconsciously, as she gazed around the elegant apartment, which, with one of her unaccountable freaks, Mrs. Graham had fitted up with the utmost taste. “Yes, this is Lena’s,” said Mrs. Graham, complacently. “Will it compare at all with her chamber at Maple Grove? I do not wish it to seem inferior!” Carrie bit her lip, while her mother very coolly replied, “Ye-es, on the whole _quite_ as good, perhaps better, as some of the furniture is new!” “Have I told you,” continued Mrs. Graham, bent on tormenting them,—“have I told you that we are to spend the winter in New Orleans, where ’Lena will of course be the reigning belle? You ought to be there, dear,” laying her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “It would be so gratifying to you to witness the sensation she will create!” “Spiteful old thing—she tries to insult us,” thought Carrie, her heart swelling with bitterness toward the ever-hated ’Lena, whose future life seemed so bright and joyous. The sound of wheels was now heard, and the ladies reached the lower hall just as the carriage, which had been sent to the station at Midway, drove up at a side door. Carrie’s first thought was for Durward, and shading her eyes with her hand, she looked anxiously out. But only Mr. Graham alighted, gently lifting out his daughter, who was still an invalid. “Mighty careful of her,” thought Mrs. Livingstone, as in his arms he bore her up the marble steps. Depositing her in their midst, and placing his arm around her, he said, turning to his wife, “Lucy, this is my daughter. Will you receive and love her as such, for my sake?” In a moment ’Lena’s soft, white hand lay in the fat, chubby one of Mrs. Graham, who kissed her pale cheek, calling her “’Lena,” and saying “she was welcome to Woodlawn.” Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie now pressed forward, overwhelming her with caresses, telling her how badly they had felt at her absence, chiding her for running away, calling her a _naughty puss_, and perfectly bewildering her with their new mode of conduct. Mr. Livingstone’s turn came next, but he neither kissed nor caressed her, for that was not in keeping with his nature, but very, very tenderly he looked into her eyes, as he said, “You know, ’Lena, that _I_ am glad—most glad for you.” Unostentatious as was this greeting, ’Lena felt that there was more sincerity in it than all that had gone before, and the tears gushed forth involuntarily. Mentally styling her, the one “a baby,” and the other “a fool,” Mrs. Livingstone and Carrie returned to the parlor, while Mrs. Graham, calling a servant, bade her show ’Lena to her room.