“Who did buy it, then?” asked Jenny; and Ida replied, “Can’t tell you just yet.  I must have some music first.  Come, Mary, you like to play.  Give me my favorite, ‘Rosa Lee,’ with variations.”

Mary was passionately fond of music, and, for the time she had taken lessons, played uncommonly well.  Seating herself at the piano, she became oblivious to all else around her, and when a tall figure for a moment darkened the doorway, while Jenny uttered a suppressed exclamation of surprise, she paid no heed, nor did she become conscious of a third person’s presence until the group advanced towards her, Ida and Jenny leaning upon the piano, and the other standing at her right, a little in the rear.  Thinking, if she thought at all, that it was William Bender, Mary played on until the piece was finished, and then, observing that her companions had left the room, she turned and met the dark, handsome eyes,—­not of William Bender, but of one who, with a peculiar smile, offered her his hand, saying, “I believe I need no introduction to Miss Howard, except a slight change in the name, which instead of being Stuart is Moreland!”

Mary never knew what she said or did.  She only remembered a dizzy sensation in her head, a strong arm passed round her, and a voice which fully aroused her as it called her “Mary,” and asked if she were faint.  Just then Ida entered the room, announcing tea, and asking her if she found “Mr. Stuart” much changed?  At the tea-table Mary sat opposite George, and every time she raised her eyes, she met his fixed upon her, with an expression so like that of the picture in the golden locket which she still wore, that she wondered she had not before recognized George Moreland in the Mr. Stuart who had so puzzled and mystified her.  After supper she had an opportunity of seeing why George was so much beloved at home.  Possessing rare powers of conversation, he seemed to know exactly what to say, and when to say it, and with a kind word and pleasant smile for all, he generally managed to make himself a favorite, notwithstanding his propensity to tease, which would occasionally show itself in some way or other.  During the evening William Bender called, and soon after Henry Lincoln also came in, frowning gloomily when he saw how near to each other were William and his sister, while he jealously watched them, still keeping an eye upon George and Mary, the latter of whom remembered her young sister, and treated him with unusual coldness.  At last, complaining of feeling blue, he asked Ida to play, at the same time sauntering towards the music room, where stood his sister’s piano.  “Upon my word,” said he, “this looks natural.  Who bought it?” and he drummed a few notes of a song.

“Mr. Moreland bought it.  Wasn’t he kind?” said Jenny, who all the evening had been trying for a chance to thank George, but now when she attempted to do so he prevented her by saying, “Oh don’t—­don’t—­I can imagine all you wish to say, and I hate to be thanked.  Rose and I are particular friends, and it afforded me a great deal of pleasure to purchase it for her—­but,” he added, glancing at his watch, “I must be excused now, as I promised to call upon my ward.”