Upon the piazza stood Mrs. Lansing, her face wreathed in smiles, while at her side, in flowing white muslin, were Ada and Lina, the former of whom sprang gaily down the steps, and with well feigned joy threw herself into the arms of her guardian, who, after kissing her affectionately, presented her to me, saying, “Will Ada be a sister to my wife?” “Anything, for your sake,” answered Ada, with rather more emphasis on _your_ than was quite pleasing me. Mrs. Lansing came next, and there was something of hauteur in her manner as she advanced, for much as she desired to please her brother, she was not yet fully prepared to meet me as an equal. But Richard knew the avenue to her heart, and as he placed my hand in hers, he said, “For the sake of Jessie you will love my bride, I am sure.” It was enough; Jessie was forgotten by many who had wept bitterly when first they heard the sad news of her death, but in the mother’s heart there was an aching void, and as if the gentle, blue-eyed child were pleading for me from her little grave, the proud woman’s eyes were moist with tears as she said, “Yes, for Jessie’s sake do I l——” she paused, for with that sacred name upon her lips even _she_ could not utter a falsehood and say, “I love you,” so she qualified it, and after a moment continued, “I will learn to love you, Rose, for such I know would be our angel Jessie’s wish.” From Lina I expected no demonstration. She was too selfish, too listless to care for any one, so when she coolly shook my hand and called me _Mrs. Delafield_, I was quite satisfied, particularly as the next moment Halbert caught me round the neck, shouting out a noisy, but genuine welcome to his “Aunt Rose,” and telling me “he was mighty glad I’d come back to stay for good.” “You have quite a party,” said Richard to his sister as we entered the spacious hall, I shrinking behind him so as to hide myself from the curious eyes which I knew were scanning my dusty travelling dress. “Only a few friends, who I thought would be glad to meet Miss Lee—I beg pardon—your wife,” she hastily added as she saw the gathering frown upon his brow. With a look in his eye which made her quail, he said, “Never make that mistake again, Angeline.” (And she never did!) “Rose is too much exhausted to appear in the parlor to-night,” he continued, as we entered my room—_our room_—the pleasant, tasteful apartment, which I once thought had been fitted up for Ada. “You ought to have had more tact than to invite company on the first night of my arrival—when you must have known how weary Rose would be. She don’t look like herself, so pale and way-worn,” he continued, himself removing my bonnet and tenderly stroking my aching head.