white rose, and a few geranium leaves in her hair, with a pearl and jet
brooch, which fastened the velvet around her throat, were the only
ornaments she wore. But Mr. Stillinghast came in growling and lowering
as usual, and without noticing any one, or any thing, threw himself in
his arm-chair, which May had taken care should be in its place; drew
off his boots, and replaced them with the soft warm slippers she had
worked for him some months before; then called for the evening paper,
and was soon immersed in the news from Europe, and the rise and fall of
stocks. About a quarter of an hour afterwards the front door-bell
rung, and May, who happened to be in the hall, went to admit the
visitor, who was no other than Mr. Jerrold. He bowed courteously, and
"presumed he had the pleasure of speaking to Miss Stillinghast?"

"My name is May Brooke," said May, with one of her clear smiles.

"And mine is Jerrold--Walter Jerrold; not so harmonious as yours,
certainly!" he replied, throwing off the large Spanish cloak which was
folded gracefully around him.

"Life would be a sad monotone if every thing in creation resembled each
other; there would be no harmony. But walk in, Mr. Jerrold, my uncle
expects you," said May, throwing open the door.

"How are you, sir?" said Mr. Stillinghast, turning his head, but not
rising. "My niece, Helen Stillinghast. Take a chair." He did not
introduce May, or notice her, except by a frown. Feeling the tears
rush to her eyes at this new mark of her uncle's displeasure, she
flitted back to the kitchen, and commenced operations with her waffle
irons. While engaged with her domestic preparations, she heard the
gay, manly voice of Mr. Jerrold, in an animated conversation with