nt were Edith and Raye who exchanged ideas with much animation. The
conversation was indeed theirs only, Anna being as a domestic animal who
humbly heard but understood not. Raye seemed startled in awakening to
this fact, and began to feel dissatisfied with her inadequacy.

At last, more disappointed than he cared to own, he said, 'Mrs. Harnham,
my darling is so flurried that she doesn't know what she is doing or
saying. I see that after this event a little quietude will be necessary
before she gives tongue to that tender philosophy which she used to treat
me to in her letters.'

They had planned to start early that afternoon for Knollsea, to spend the
few opening days of their married life there, and as the hour for
departure was drawing near Raye asked his wife if she would go to the
writing-desk in the next room and scribble a little note to his sister,
who had been unable to attend through indisposition, informing her that
the ceremony was over, thanking her for her little present, and hoping to
know her well now that she was the writer's sister as well as Charles's.

'Say it in the pretty poetical way you know so well how to adopt,' he
added, 'for I want you particularly to win her, and both of you to be
dear friends.'

Anna looked uneasy, but departed to her task, Raye remaining to talk to
their guest. Anna was a long while absent, and her husband suddenly rose
and went to her.

He found her still bending over the writing-table, with tears brimming up
in her eyes; and he looked down upon the sheet of note-paper with some
interest, to discover with what tact she had expressed her good-will in
the delicate circumstances. To his surprise she had progressed but a few
lines, in the characters and spelling of a child of eight, and with the
ideas of a goose.

'Anna,' he said, staring; 'what's this?'

'It only means--that I can't do it any better!' she answered, through her
tears.

'Eh? Nonsense!'

'I can't!' she insisted, with miserable, sobbing hardihood. 'I--I--didn't
write those letters, Charles! I only told _her_ what to write! And not
always that! But I am learning, O so fast, my dear, dear husband! And
you'll forgive me, won't you, for not telling you before?' She slid to
her knees, abjectly clasped his waist and laid her face against him.

He stood a few moments, raised her, abruptly turned, and shut the door
upon her, rejoining Edith in the drawing-room. She saw that something
untoward ha