And while I was in the middle of it I heard a gentle creak, and the rustle of a soft gown, and a step like velvet on the carpet--Edmund would have a Brussels carpet, instead of the polished boards and rugs that I advised. Looking up, alarmed and ashamed, whom should I see but dear little Emily Blount, with her kind, sweet face, full of the love and sympathy that I was so much in need of. I had always known that she was one in a thousand, but never had I felt so thankful that my Harry had made so wise a choice. She had stolen away from her school to hear how Phyllis was, and, instead of pushing in where she was not wanted, had crept like a mouse to the empty drawing-room, to wait there until she could intercept somebody going up or down the stairs. What an example of good feeling, of good manners, of good breeding and good taste! I held out my arms to her, and she ran to them, and kissed and hugged me, crying out to know what was the matter, in the utmost concern. Well, I told her what was the matter--I told her everything; I had to relieve my overcharged feelings in some way, and, Tom being absent, I could not have found a truer sympathiser. Words cannot express the comfort it was to me to know that she would be my real daughter some day. "Emmie," I said to her, as she sat beside me with her arm round my waist, "promise me that, when _you_ have a baby, you will send for me to be with you--and send for me _in time._" She blushed perfectly scarlet--which was silly of her, being a B.A., and of course not like the ordinary ignorant bread-and-butter miss--but she laid her little face into my neck in the most tender, confiding way. "It is what I should wish," she whispered, "if only my own dear mother would not think----" "Your own mother," I broke in, "has only had you, and I have had four children. I know much more of those matters than she does, and _you_ know from experience, having been in the house all through Harry's illness, what a good nurse I am." I had seen Mrs. Blount once or twice--a sharp little fidgety woman, who would get dreadfully on the nerves of an invalid who was at all sensitive. "Besides," I added, "own mothers as a rule are a mistake on these occasions. They are over-anxious, and the personal interest is too strong." "Oh, I think so--I do think so," she said, agreeing with me at once. "It is too hard upon them both, unless they are cold-hearted creatures. And I would much, much rather have you, dearest Mrs. Braye, if I am ever so happy--so fortunate----" "As you will be," I broke in, warmly embracing her. "I am going to talk to Harry about that little house which he has fallen in love with. I don't believe in young people wasting the best years of their lives in waiting for each other."