ge, two thousand
pounds a year. Two--thousand--pounds--a--year," repeated Anna, nodding
her head at each word. "Now, Susie, what do you think of that?"

"What do I think of it? Why, that it isn't much. Where would you all
have been, I wonder, if I had only had two thousand a year?"

"Oh, congratulate me!" cried Anna, opening her arms. "Kiss me, and tell
me you are glad! Don't you see that I am off your hands at last? That we
need never think about husbands again? That you will never have to buy
me any more clothes, and never tire your poor little self out any more
trotting me round? I don't know which of us is to be congratulated
most," she added laughing, looking at Susie with her eyes full of tears.
Then she insisted on kissing her again, and murmured foolish things in
her ear about being so sorry for all her horrid ways, and so grateful to
her, and so determined now to be good for ever and ever.

"My _dear_ Anna," remonstrated Susie, who disliked sentiment and never
knew how to respond to exhibitions of feeling. "Of course I congratulate
you. It almost seems as if throwing away one's chances in the way you
have done was the right thing to do, and is being rewarded. Don't let us
waste time. You know we go out to dinner. What has he left Peter?"

"Peter?" said Anna wonderingly.

"Yes, Peter. He was his nephew, I suppose, just as much as you were his
niece."

"Well, but Susie, Peter is different. He--he doesn't need money as I do;
and of course Uncle Joachim knew that."

"Nonsense. He hasn't got a penny. Let me look at the letters."

"They're in German. You won't be able to read them."

"Give them to me. I learned German at school, and got a prize. You're
not the only person in the world who can do things."

She took them out of Anna's hand, and began slowly and painfully to read
the one from Uncle Joachim, determined to see whether there really was
no mention of Peter. Anna looked on, hot and cold by turns with fright
lest by some chance her early studies should not after all have been
quite forgotten.

"Here's something about Peter--and me," Susie said suddenly. "At least,
I suppose he means me. It is something Dobbs. Why does he call me that?
It hasn't been my name for fifteen years."

"Oh, it's some silly German way. He says the _geborene_ Dobbs, to
distinguish you from other Lady Estcourts."

"But there are no others."

"Oh, well, his sister was one. Give me the letter, Susie--I can tell you
what h