d
she occupied the waiting hours in altering this cushion, and that
picture, and in trying to give an air of home to mere upholstery and
bric-a-brac.

She expected the travelers by noon, but some delay occurred, and
it was two o'clock when they came up the silent Sabbath street,
with carriages and express wagons, and a certain clatter and _eclat_
which brought every one, far and near, to their windows. Antony was
the first to alight, though Harry immediately followed. Harry
assisted his mother, Antony took Rose on his arm and tenderly helped
her up the low, broad steps. They were both greatly changed; Antony
looked ten years older, and also as if grief, and not age, had robbed
him of his youth. Rose was still beautiful, but her face had lost
its childlikeness, and gained something more dominant. She was thin
and restless; but quite the woman of the world. As soon as Antony
had placed her on a sofa he went back rapidly to a third carriage,
and took from the arms of a French nurse within it a little bundle of
white silk and swan's-down.

His gentleness and care, his encircling arms, his face bent with such
infinite love, made Adriana's eyes fill with tears. She went to meet
him, and, with inexpressible pride, he withdrew the veil that covered
the small face. "Oh, what a lovely child!" This was the exclamation
from every one present. Indeed, the babe was exquisitely beautiful, as
it lay smiling in Antony's arms, dimpled and rosy, with large blue
eyes full of heavenly memories, and soft little rings of golden curls,
lying like sunshine on its brow. Mrs. Filmer cried over the beauty of
the infant, and Harry kissed it again and again; and Adriana felt her
heart swell with tenderness. And while they were all doing homage to
the infant, Mr. Filmer came in; and he let slip all his acquired
restraints, and forgot every other consideration in the child. He
would have it in his arms. He would kiss its tiny hands and its rosy
mouth, and he said it was "the loveliest image of humanity he had ever
seen!"

And in spite of herself, all this enthusiasm depressed Adriana. Her
own child had never been much noticed, she thought even Harry had
given Rose's baby more admiration than he had given his own. To be
sure, little Harry was not lovely, as little Emma was lovely; but
Harry was a boy, and also he had in his sturdy, large-limbed babyhood
more resemblance to the Van Hoosens than to the more refined Filmers.
Being a mother and a woma