For one instant Georgie’s face was radiant, then it slowly settled back to its former gentle sadness, and she said, with firmness, “That is terrible, for she loves you!” “No!” “I tell you she does.” “Still it can never be. All I ask is, Georgie, that you will let this good grandmother care for this family without—without interference on your part.” “That is, you don’t wish me to have much intimacy with Anna Burns.” “It would pain me to put it in that form.” “But that is what you mean. Well, Mr. Savage, I cannot consent to it. I have promised these people to befriend them. They are no common objects of charity, but refined, and gently bred as I am. You may forsake them, but I never will.” Savage gazed on the young girl with more admiration than he had ever felt for her in his life before. How was he to act? In what way could he warn the girl, and keep her safe from evil associations, and yet protect his knowledge of Anna Burns’ unworthiness? “Poor Anna! Poor, dear girl! I know how to pity her!” murmured Georgie, with tears in her eyes. “God bless you, Georgie! What a good heart you have!” Savage sat down by her, and taking her hand, kissed it. “Miss Georgiana Halstead, is this the way you answer my messages?” The door of Georgie’s sitting-room had been softly opened, and Miss Eliza stood on the threshold in a dress of blue silk, and with natural roses in her hair. “I—I did not receive any message,” answered Georgiana, shivering. “But I sent one, asking Mr. Savage to my room.” “I will see you presently, Miss Eliza,” said Savage, coming to Georgiana’s aid. “The servant gave me your message in the hall; Miss Halstead knew nothing about it. I had a little special business with her.” “Indeed! Then I will retire.” Miss Eliza gave him an imperial courtesy, and gave them both a fine view of her sweeping train as she passed up the stairs. “Do go,” said Georgiana, smiling in spite of all her trouble; “she will give me no peace for a week to come if you keep her waiting. Besides, she saw you kissing my hand, and it would be an awkward subject at the breakfast table before papa.” “Rather!” answered Savage. “But, tell me, Georgiana, what shall I do if she proposes to me outright? She looked capable of it, on my word she did.” “Do?” answered Georgie, brightening under the idea. “Why, marry her; it will serve you right for asking me to give up Anna Burns. I won’t do it, make sure of that.” “What a thing it is to fear no evil. God bless the girl! What if her answers were wiser than all my worldly wisdom?” Miss Eliza was kneeling by her cozy chair, half prostrated on the floor, over which the broad circumference of her crinoline, and waves on waves of blue silk swept in rustling waves. She was crying, partly from pure vexation, and partly because tears would be extremely convenient just at that moment. A light knock came to the door. She started, turned over one shoulder, shook out the folds of her dress, and bent to her grief again.