“I am not sorrowful—at least not very. About you and Mr. Gould I am glad as glad can be; indeed, indeed I am! Only you know one gets a sorrowful look after—after so much trouble.” “But your troubles are all over now.” “Are they? Oh, yes! we are very well off. You don’t know the difference. Sometimes, when I awake in the morning and see such hosts of leaves trembling about my window, it seems unbelievable. There is a taria that has climbed up the balconies to the third story, leaving wreaths of purple blossoms all the way. Sometimes it seems impossible that such things can be for us.” “But they are, and better things are coming, I feel sure of it; only get that sad look off your face, Anna. I cannot bear to be so happy, and see you going about like a wounded bird. Now kiss me, dear, and then we will go tell grandma.” Anna kissed the sweet mouth bent to hers, and the two girls went into the house. One smiling like a June morning, the other smiling, too, but with a look of suppressed tears about the eyes. Mrs. Burns had left the breakfast-table, and was waiting for their visitor in the little parlor, framed in by the open window like one of those delicious old German home-pictures, that seem so real that you feel the poetry in them, but cannot for the life of you, tell where it lies. She came forward to meet Georgiana, with her hand held out, ready for the good news so eloquent in that beautiful young face. “I know it is something pleasant,” she said, smoothing the pretty hand that lay in hers, warm and fluttering; “tell me, dear.” “Yes, grandma, I come for that; but—but how to begin.” She laughed sweetly, blushed, and looked appealingly to Anna. The secret was harder to tell than she thought for. “Grandmother, she is going to be married; only it is a secret with us, remember. It is to young Mr. Gould.” “Young Mr. Gould!” repeated the old lady. “What, the young gentleman who came here? No, it was to the other house.” “Yes, grandma,” said Georgie, smiling afresh amid the crimson of her blushes, “I—I am sure you like him.” “Indeed, I do,” answered the old lady. “Why should any one doubt it?” She spoke seriously, and with a certain intonation which surprised both the girls. “And he thinks so much of you,” cried Georgie. “As for Robert, I really believe no brother ever loved a little fellow better.” “He is very kind,” answered the old lady, and, for the first time in their lives, those two girls saw a shade of sarcasm on that dear old face. It was very faint, but they did not like it. “I—I am almost afraid that you do not like him,” faltered Georgie. “It would be unjust if I did not,” answered the old lady, sadly. “He was not to blame.” “Not to blame, grandma?” repeated Georgie, amazed. “Did I say that? Well, of course, he is not to blame for any thing, especially for loving our own home-angel!” “There, that is a dear, blessed, darling old grandma again! Why, you haven’t kissed me yet, or wished me joy, or any thing?”