for you. You know how glad I should have been if I had not been
obliged to perceive that it would not be really right or kind to either.
Only do let me thank you for liking my dear sister, and forgive us if
you are grieved. I am very, very sorry.

'Yours, very sincerely,

'V. H. MARTINDALE.'

Annette raised her eyes in surprise. 'Ah!' said Violet, 'it is of no
use for me to try to write like Matilda. I did once, but I am not clever
enough; it looked so silly and affected, that I have been ashamed to
remember it ever since. I must write in the only way I can.'

Her sister wanted to tear up her letter as a piece of affectation,
but this she would not allow. It made her feel despairing to think
of spending two hours more over it, and she hoped that she would be
satisfied with the argument that the familiar style employed by Mrs.
Martindale towards an old friend might not be suited to Annette Moss
when rejecting his suit.

Each sentence underwent a revision, till Violet, growing as impatient
as was in her nature, told her at last that he would think more of the
substance than of the form.

Next, she had to contend against Annette's longing to flee home at once,
by Theodora's own saying, 'London was wide enough for both;' and more
effectually by suggesting that a sudden departure would be the best
means of proclaiming the adventure. It was true enough that Mr.
Fotheringham was not likely to molest her. No more was heard of him
till, two days after, the owl's provider brought a parcel with a
message, that Mr. Fotheringham had given up his lodging and was going to
Paris. It contained some books and papers of John's, poor little Pallas
Athene herself, stuffed, and directed to Master J. Martindale, and a
book in which, under his sister's name, he had written that of little
Helen. Violet knew he had intended making some residence at Paris, to be
near the public libraries, and she understood this as a kind, forgiving
farewell. She could understand his mortification, that he, after casting
off the magnificent Miss Martindale, should be rejected by this little
humble country girl; and she could not help thinking herself ungrateful,
so that the owl, which she kept in the drawing-room, as the object
of Johnnie's tender strokings, always seemed to have a reproachful
expression in its round glass eyes.

The hope of seeing the expediency of her decision waxed fainter, when
she received the unexpected honour of a letter from Lor