“You’ve nothing to do with Lenora,” said Mrs. Hamilton; “you’ve only to attend to your own matters.”

“Wonder then what I’m up here for a-h’istin this pianner,” muttered Polly.  “This ain’t my matters, sartin’.”

When Mr. Hamilton came in to dinner he was shown the little room with its single bed, tiny bureau, silken lounge and easy chair, of which the last two were Mag’s especial property.

“All very nice,” said he, “but where is Mag’s piano?”

“In the parlor,” answered his wife.  “People often ask for music, and it is more convenient to have it there than to come across the hall and through the sitting-room.”

Mr. Hamilton said nothing, but he secretly wished Mag’s rights had not been invaded quite so soon.  His wife must have guessed as much; for, laying her hand on his, she, with the utmost deference, offered to undo all she had done, if it did not please him.

“Certainly not—­certainly not; it does please me,” said he; while Polly, who stood on the cellar stairs listening, exclaimed, “What a fool a woman can make of a man!”

Three days after Mr. Hamilton’s marriage he received a letter from Walter, saying that they would be at home on the Thursday night following.  Willie was in, ecstasies, for though as yet he liked his new mother tolerably well, he still loved Maggie better; and the thought of seeing her again made him wild with delight.  All day long on Thursday he sat in the doorway, listening for the shrill cry of the train which was to bring her home.

“Don’t you love Maggie?” said he to Lenora, who chanced to pass him.

“Don’t I love Maggie?  No, I don’t; neither does she love me,” was the answer.

Willie was puzzled to know why any one should not like Mag; but his confidence in her was not at all shaken, and when, soon after sunset, Lenora cried, “There, they’ve come,” he rushed to the door, and was soon in the arms of his sister-mother.  Pressing his lips to hers, he said, “Did you ’know I’d got a new mother?  Mrs. Carter and Leno—­they are in there,” pointing toward the parlor.

Instantly Mag dropped him.  It was the first intimation of her father’s marriage which she had received, and reeling backward, she would have fallen had not Walter supported her.  Quickly rallying, she advanced toward her father, who came to meet her, and whose hand trembled in her grasp.  After greeting each of his children he turned to present them to his wife, wisely taking Carrie first.  She was not prejudiced, like Mag, and returned her stepmother’s salutation with something like affection, for which Lenora rewarded her by terming her a “little simpleton.”

But Mag—­she who had warned her father against that woman—­she who on her knees had begged him not to marry her—­she had no word of welcome, and when Mrs. Hamilton offered her hand she affected not to see it, though with the most frigid politeness she said, “Good evening, madam; this is, indeed, a surprise!”