man realize that the dead wife yet lived and
reigned triumphant in her child. He himself was conscious that he
conducted himself rather awkwardly and foolishly. A red spot burned
on either cheek. He spoke jerkily, and it seemed to him that
everything he said was silly, and that people might repeat it and
laugh. He was relieved when it was all over and he and Ida were in
the cab, driving to the station. When they were rolling rapidly
through a lonely part of the road, he put his arm around his new
wife, and kissed her. She received his kiss, and looked at him with
her set smile and the set sparkle in her beautiful eyes. Again the
feeling of almost terror which he had experienced the night when
Maria had torn the paper off in her mother's room, came over him.
However, he made an effort and threw it off.

"Poor little Maria looked charming, thanks to you, dearest," he said,
tenderly.

"Yes, I thought she did. That gray suit was just the thing for her,
wasn't it? I never saw her look so pretty before," returned Ida, and
her tone was full of self-praise for her goodness to Maria.

"Well, she will be a great deal happier," said Harry. "It was a
lonesome life for a child to lead."

Harry Edgham had not an atom of tact. Any woman might have judged
from his remarks that she had been married on account of Maria; but
Ida only responded with her never-changing smile.

"Yes," said she, "I think myself that she will be much happier,
dear." Privately she rather did resent her husband's speech, but she
never lost sight of the fact that a smile is more becoming than a
frown.

Maria remained boarding at Mrs. Jonas White's until her father and
his new wife returned. She did not have a very happy time. In the
first place, the rather effusive pity with which she was treated by
the female portion of the White family, irritated her. She began to
consider that, now her father had married, his wife was a member of
her family, and not to be decried. Maria had a great deal of pride
when those belonging to her were concerned. One day she retorted
pertly when some covert remark, not altogether to her new mother's
laudation, had been made by Lillian.

"I think she is perfectly lovely," said she, with a toss of her head.

Lillian and her mother looked at each other. Then Lillian, who was
not her match for pertness, spoke.

"Have you made up your mind what to call her?" she asked. "Mummer, or
mother?"

"I shall call her whatever I pleas