would go with her mother.  She thought of George Ramsey.  Now and then as the concert proceeded she twisted her neck slightly and peered around, but she saw nothing of him.  She concluded that he was not there.  But when the concert was over, and she and her mother were passing out the door, and Dr. Ellridge was pressing close to her mother, under a fire of hostile glances from his daughters, Lily felt a touch on her own arm.  She turned, and saw George Ramsey’s handsome face with a quiver of unutterable bliss.  She took his arm, and followed her mother and Dr. Ellridge.  When they were out in the frosty air, under a low sky sparkling with multitudinous stars traversed by its mysterious nebulous highway of the gods, this poor little morsel of a mortal, engrossed with her poor little troubles, answered a remark of George’s concerning the weather in a trembling voice.  Then she began to weep unreservedly.  George with a quick glance around, drew her around a corner which they had just reached into a street which afforded a circuitous route home, and which was quite deserted.

“Why Lily, what in the world is the matter?” he said.  There was absolutely nothing in his voice or his heart at the time except friendliness and honest concern for his old playmate’s distress.

“Mother is going to be married to Dr. Ellridge,” whispered Lily, “and he and his three horrid daughters are all coming to live at our house.”

George whistled.

Lily sobbed quite aloud.

“Hush, poor little girl,” said George.  He glanced around; there was not a soul to be seen.  Lily’s head seemed to droop as naturally towards his shoulder as a flower towards the sun.  A sudden impulse of tenderness, the tenderness of the strong for the weak, of man for woman, came over the young fellow.  Before he well knew what he was doing, his arm had passed around Lily’s waist, and the pretty head quite touched his shoulder.  George gave one last bitter thought towards Maria, then he spoke.

“Well,” he said, “don’t cry, Lily dear.  If your mother is going to marry Dr. Ellridge, suppose you get married too.  Suppose you marry me, and come and live at my house.”

Chapter XXV

The next morning, before Maria had started for school, Lily Merrill came running across the yard, and knocked at the side door.  She always knocked unless she was quite sure that Maria was alone.  She was afraid of her aunt.  Aunt Maria opened the door, and Lily shrank a little before her, in spite of the wonderful glowing radiance which lit her lovely face that morning.

“Good-morning, Miss Stillman,” said Lily, timidly.

“Well?” said Aunt Maria.  The word was equivalent to “What do you want?”

“Has Maria gone?” asked Lily.

“No, she is getting dressed.”

“Can I run up to her room and see her a minute?  I have something particular I want to tell her.”