It was a beautiful room which the girl occupied, half library, half boudoir, warmed with the mellow sunshine and bright with tasteful ornaments. The walls were wainscoted with black walnut, enriched with gilded beading, and the ceiling was crossed with beams of the same dark wood, giving an antique air to the whole. The floor was also of polished walnut, which a Persian carpet, bright with scarlet and green, left exposed at the edges. Turkish chairs, and a pretty couch, all cushions and crimson silk, gave warmth to the dark shades of the wall, while crimson curtains imparted to them a double richness when the sun shone through them. Mosaic tables blended these commingling shades harmoniously. A harp, that seemed one net-work of gold, stood in one corner. A guitar, around which clustered a wreath of gold and mother-of-pearl, lay upon the couch; and superbly bound books were scattered on the tables. But all these had given no happiness to pretty Georgiana, who lay huddled together in one of the Turkish chairs, pale as a lily, and with soft, bluish shadows deepening under her eyes. Whoever the man was that she grieved about, I think he never could have resisted so much tender loveliness, had he seen Georgie then, with her hair disturbed and rippling, half in ringlets, half in waves, shading her face here and revealing it there, absolutely rendering her one of the most interesting creatures in the world. A morning dress of very pale green merino, with some swans’-down about the neck and sleeves, lay in soft folds around her. She had been crying, poor girl! and the dew of her tears hung on those long, curling lashes, which were brown, and several shades darker than her golden hair. Georgie heard Miss Eliza’s step, and wiped the tears away quickly with her hand, starting up and holding her breath, like a white hare afraid of being driven from its covert, as the rustle of silk drew nearer and nearer. “Oh, you are here yet! I fancied so,” cried Miss Eliza, flinging open the door, and sweeping into the room with a rush and flutter which always accompanied her movements; “and in that morning dress, too, intensely interesting. But do you know it is almost dinner-time?” “I was not going down to dinner, Aunt Eliza,” answered Georgie; “my head aches a little, I think.” “What! have your dinner sent up? Why, child, this is putting on airs.” “No, I am not putting on airs, Aunt Eliza.” “Aunt Eliza! How often am I to tell you that I detest the title; besides, it does not belong to me. I am aunt to no one, certainly not to a person who has not a single drop of my blood in her veins.” “I am sorry to have used the word; excuse me,” said Georgie, with childlike sweetness. “I never wish to offend you, Miss Eliza.”