Here the old man broke into a low, chuckling laugh; and Gould, well-bred as he was, broke into a wild ecstasy of fun. “She asked my consent.” “What! under the cupid?” “Said she could not think of encouraging your devotion without that.” “No! no! no! she didn’t do that!” “Said that it was but right to confess that her first maiden affections had, for a moment, wandered to another, who might even then hold her in honor bound to him; but her love, the pure, deep, holy, irresistible feeling would forever turn to my nephew, though she might, such was her fine sense of honor, be compelled to marry another.” “Oh, uncle, uncle! do break off. I shall die—I shall die with laughing. Have mercy, uncle.” “I am an indulgent old fellow, Gould, and I told her that my consent should not be withheld, when you asked it.” “You did—and then?” “Then she kissed my hand, slid down, with one knee on the ottoman, and asked my blessing.” “And you gave it?” “No, Gould; an old man’s blessing is too sacred for such trifling; but Louis the grand, never lifted a woman from her knees more regally. She was delighted with me.” “I wonder she did not put in a reversionary interest in yourself, uncle.” “She did, rather. I think she said, if her young heart had not gone out to my nephew, it would still have rested in the family.” “Excuse me, uncle, but this is getting too funny; I have got a pain in my side already. Just let me off awhile till I take breath.” “But about Georgiana?” “Don’t uncle. I cannot bear to have that sweet girl mentioned in the same day with that excruciating old maid.” “That is right, Gould. We’ll talk of her another time.” CHAPTER XX. A BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND. Georgiana Halstead called on Mrs. Savage as she had promised. She knew nothing of the change that had come over Horace, and went with a heavy heart to perform a painful task. Mrs. Savage received her with more than her usual cordiality. She took off her bonnet with her own hands, smoothed her hair caressingly, and kissed her forehead before she allowed the girl to find a seat. “And how is my pet of pets?” she said, smiling down upon that lovely face. “It is a long time since you have been here, child.” “Yes,” said Georgie. “I have been so busy, so—that is, I have not felt like going out.” “Ah! I understand it all. Miss Eliza has been talking to you; what a mischievous creature she is. But do not believe a word of it, dear. Horace cares no more about that Burns girl than I do.” “But I thought you liked her so much!” said Georgie faithful to her promise. “Why not, she is a good girl, and _so_ pretty?” “Why, Georgie, what has come over you? But, perhaps, Eliza has been discreet for once.” “No, she hasn’t. Aunt Eliza don’t know what discretion is. She told me a hundred cruel things about that poor girl; but not one of them is true.” “And, among the rest, something about my son. Confess, dear, that she has?”