his mother will not come."

"Oh, I am so sorry!" replied Madam Conway, thinking of the purple
satin, and continuing, "Nor the young lady, either?"

"None of them," answered Theo, adding hastily, as if to change the
conversation, "Isn't my piano perfectly elegant?" and she ran her
fingers over an exquisitely carved instrument, which had inscribed
upon it simply "Theo"; and then, as young brides sometimes will,
she expatiated upon the kindness and generosity of George, showing,
withal, that her love for her husband was founded upon something far
more substantial than family or wealth.

Her own happiness, it would seem, had rendered her less selfish and
more thoughtful for others; for once that afternoon, on returning to
her room after a brief absence, she whispered to Maggie that "someone
in the parlor below wished to see her."

Then seating herself at her grandmother's feet, she entertained her so
well with a description of her travels that the good lady failed to
observe the absence of Maggie, who, face to face with Henry Warner,
was making amends for their long separation. Much they talked of the
past, and then Henry spoke of the future; but of this Maggie was less
hopeful. Her grandmother would never consent to their marriage, she
knew--the "Stars and Stripes" had decided that matter, even though
there were no Arthur Carrollton across the sea, and Maggie sighed
despondingly as she thought of the long years of single-blessedness in
store for her.

"There is but one alternative left, then," said Henry. "If your