ine old-fashioned
house, being himself the fourth Thomas Burton that the shining brass
door-plate had represented. His old grandmother was the only near
relative he had in the world; she was growing older and more dependent
upon him every day. That summer he had returned from a long wandering
absence of three years, and the vigorous elderly woman whom he had
left, busy and self-reliant, had sadly changed in the mean time; age
had begun to strike telling blows at her strength and spirits. Tom had
no idea of leaving her again for the long journeys which had become
the delightful habit of his life; but there was no reason why he
should not take a fortnight's holiday now and then, particularly now.

"Has Mrs. Burton come down yet, Dennis? Is there any one with her?"
asked Tom, as he entered.

"There is not, sir. Mrs. Burton is in the drawing-room," answered
Dennis precisely. "The tea is just going up; I think she was waiting
for you." And Tom ran upstairs like a schoolboy, and then walked
discreetly into the drawing-room. His grandmother gave no sign of
having expected him, but she always liked company at that hour of the
day: there had come to be too many ghosts in the empty chairs.

"Can I have two cups?" demanded the grandson, cheerfully. "I don't
know when I have had such a walk!" and they began a gay gossiping hour
together, and parted for a short season afterward, only to meet again
at dinner, with a warm sense of pleasure in each other's company. The
young man always insisted that his grandmother was the most charming
woman in the world, and it can be imagined what the grandmother
thought of Tom. She was only severe with him because he had given no
signs of wishing to marry, but she was tolerant of all delay, so long
as she could now and then keep the subject fresh in his mind. It was
not a moment to speak again of the great question that afternoon, and
she had sat and listened to his talk of people and things, a little
plaintive and pale, but very handsome, behind the tea-table.

II.

At dinner, after Dennis had given Tom his cup of coffee and cigars,
and disappeared with an accustomed air of thoughtfully leaving the
family alone for a private interview, Mrs. Burton, who sometimes
lingered if she felt like talking, and sometimes went away to the
drawing-room to take a brief nap before she began her evening book,
and before Tom joined her for a few minutes to say good-night if he
were going out,--Mrs. Burton