head on the edge of the mantel, she went on, talking into the flames. "Ever since Father died I've been so in the way in the world!" she exclaimed. "I've been so unwanted! My brothers' and sisters' lives are full and overflowing. There's been little room for me. Of course they've been as kind as they knew how, but I've dreaded the approach of many an evening because I've known that I was interfering with quiet, homey, tête-à-tête dinners, and intimate talks. I've tried to make myself small and keep out of the way, but it's been difficult. And now when you come, and make me feel so important, so desired, well,"—her voice caught a little, but she kept on—"well, it moves me like twenty bands playing in glorious unison all at once!"
Lucretia stood up very straight, and winked hard. She put the tip of her forefinger on the glass covering on the face of the clock. "Half past eight," she said, with an attempt at gayety. "In half an hour Bee and Henry will be here. To-morrow morning when the mail arrives all over the country, the other members of my family will receive the glad tidings of their release from their yearly three-months' duty to poor Lucretia." She smiled.
Thomas Hornby rose, and approached the fire.
