"Good morning! It seems I am the laggard to-day, but Nicholas had mislaid the flower shears, and detained me. Hereafter I shall turn over this work of dressing vases to you, child. My son, this is your birthday, and here is your button-hole souvenir." She fastened a few sprigs of white jasmine in his linen coat, and, as he thanked her briefly, and turned to the table, she said, with marked emphasis: "St. Elmo, let me introduce you to Edna Earl." He looked around, and fixed his keen eyes on the orphan, whose cheeks crimsoned as she looked down and said, quite distinctly: "Good morning, Mr. Murray." "Good morning, Miss Earl." "No, I protest! 'Miss Earl,' indeed! Call the child Edna." "As you please, mother, provided you do not let the coffee and chocolate get cold while you decide the momentous question." Neither spoke again for some time, and in the embarrassing silence Edna kept her eyes on the china, wondering if all their breakfasts would be like this. At last Mr. Murray pushed away his large coffee-cup, and said abruptly: "After all, it is only one year to-day since I came back to America, though it seems much longer. It will soon be time to prepare for my trip to the South Sea Islands. The stagnation here is intolerable." An expression of painful surprise flitted across the mother's countenance, but she answered quickly: "It has been an exceedingly short, happy year to me. You are such a confirmed absentee, that when you are at home, time slips by unnoticed." "But few and far between as my visits are, they certainly never approach the angelic. 'Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest,' must frequently recur to you." Before his mother could reply he rose, ordered his horse, and as he drew on his gloves, and left the room, looked over his shoulder, saying indifferently, "That box of pictures from Munich is at the warehouse; I directed Henry to go after it this morning. I will open it when I come home." A moment after he passed the window on horseback, and with a heavy sigh Mrs. Murray dropped her head on her hand, compressing her lips, and toying abstractedly with the sugar-tongs. Edna watched the grave, troubled countenance for some seconds, and then putting her hand on the flower-basket, she asked softly: "Shall I dress the flower-pots?" "Yes, child, in four rooms; this, the parlors, and the library. Always cut the flowers very early, while the dew is on them." Her eyes went back to the sugar-tongs, and Edna joyfully escaped from a room whose restraints and associations were irksome.