to the
tradesmen, since she obviously could not give them orally. The only
comment would be on Annie's conduct in holding herself aloof from her
family and the village people generally.

The next morning, when Annie went away, there was an excited conclave
among the sisters.

"She means to do it," said Susan, and she wept.

Imogen's handsome face looked hard and set. "Let her, if she wants to,"
said she.

"Only think what people will say!" wailed Jane.

Imogen tossed her head. "I shall have something to say myself," she
returned. "I shall say how much we all regret that dear Annie has such
a difficult disposition that she felt she could not live with her own
family and must be alone."

"But," said Jane, blunt in her distress, "will they believe it?"

"Why will they not believe it, pray?"

"Why, I am afraid people have the impression that dear Annie has--" Jane
hesitated.

"What?" asked Imogen, coldly. She looked very handsome that morning. Not
a waved golden hair was out of place on her carefully brushed head. She
wore the neatest of blue linen skirts and blouses, with a linen collar
and white tie. There was something hard but compelling about her blond
beauty.

"I am afraid," said Jane, "that people have a sort of general impression
that dear Annie has perhaps as sweet a disposition as any of us, perhaps
sweeter."

"Nobody says that dear Annie has not a sweet disposition," said Imogen,
taking a careful stitch in her embroidery. "But a sweet disposition is
very often extremely difficult for other people. It constantly puts them
in the wrong. I am well aware of the fact that dear Annie does a great
deal for all of us, but it is sometimes irritating. Of course it is
quite certain that she must have a feeling of superiority because of it,
and she should not have it."

Sometimes Eliza made illuminating speeches. "I suppose it follows,
then," said she, with slight irony, "that only an angel can have a very
sweet disposition without offending others."

But Imogen was not in the least nonplussed. She finished her line of
thought. "And with all her sweet disposition," said she, "nobody can
deny that dear Annie is peculiar, and peculiarity always makes people
difficult for other people. Of course it is horribly peculiar what she
is proposing to do now. That in itself will be enough to convince people
that dear Annie must be difficult. Only a difficult person could do such
a strange thing."

"Who is going to g