“You merely wish to invite him here?” she said to Lilian, who answered: “That’s the main thing; but you must write three pages at least, or he won’t be satisfied. Tell him what a nice journey we had, and how pleasant Beechwood is. Tell him all about your new piano, and what a splendid girl you are,—how I wonder he never fell in love with you,—but I’m glad he didn’t; tell him how much Oliver knows, and how much better he looks than I thought he did; that if he was bigger and hadn’t such funny feet he’d almost do for you; tell him how dearly I like him,—Lawrence, I mean, not Oliver,—how glad I shall be when he comes, and Geraldine must send my coral ear-rings and bracelets, and——” “Stop, stop! You drive me distracted!” cried Mildred, who, from this confused jumble, was trying to make out a sensible letter. Her task was finished at last, and she submitted it to Lilian’s inspection. “But you didn’t tell him what a splendid girl you are, nor how much I like him,” said Lilian, her countenance falling at once. “Can’t you add it in a postscript somehow?” “Never mind, Lily,” returned Mildred, lifting one of the long golden curls which had escaped from the lace cap. “He knows you like him, and when he comes you can tell him anything you please of me. It does not look well in me to be writing my own praises.” “But you used to,” said Lilian. “You wrote to him once, ‘I love Mildred Howell best of anybody in the world, don’t you?’ and he answered back, ‘Yes, next to you, Fairy, I love Mildred best.’ Don’t you remember it, Milly?” Mildred did remember it, and remembered, too, how that answer had wrung from her bitter tears; but she made no reply, and, as Lilian began to show signs of sleepiness, she arose cautiously and put aside the letter, which would be copied next morning in Lilian’s delicate little hand and sent on its way to Boston. [Illustration: Flowers] CHAPTER VIII. LAWRENCE AND HIS FATHER. “Lawrence, step in here for a moment,” said Mr. Thornton; and Lawrence, equipped for travelling, with carpet-bag, duster, and shawl, followed his father into the library, where all the family edicts were issued and all the family secrets told. “Lawrence, Geraldine tells me you are going to Beechwood for three or four days.” “Why, yes,” returned the son. “I received a letter from Lilian last night inviting me to come. I told you of it at the time, else my memory is very treacherous.” “It may be,—I don’t remember,” said the father; “but Geraldine has given me a new idea about your going there, and it is for this that I have called you in. Lawrence do you love Lilian Veille?” “Why do you ask me that question, when you know that I have always loved her?” was the reply, and Mr. Thornton continued: “Yes, yes, but how do you love her,—as a sister,—as a cousin,—or as one whom you intend to make your wife?”