hraeuber they were in perfect accord,
and absolutely pitiless. It troubled Anna, for the Fraeulein was the one
member of the trio who was really happy--so long, that is, as the others
left her alone. Invigorated by her cold tub into a belief in the
possibility of peace-making, she made one more resolution: to establish
without delay concord between the three. It was so clearly to their own
advantage to live together in harmony; surely a calm talking-to would
make them see that, and desire it. They were not children, neither were
they, presumably, more unreasonable than other people; nor could they,
she thought, having suffered so much themselves, be intentionally
unkind. That very day she would make things straight.

She could not of course dream that the periodical putting to confusion
of Fraeulein Kuhraeuber was the one thing that kept the other two alive.
They found life at Kleinwalde terribly dull. There were no neighbours,
and they did not like forests. The princess hardly showed herself; Anna
was English, besides being more or less of a lunatic--the combination,
when you came to think of it, was alarming,--and they soon wearied of
pouring into each other's highly sceptical ears descriptions of the
splendours of their prosperous days. The visits of the parson had at
first been a welcome change, for they were both religious women who
loved to impress a new listener with the amount of their faith and
resignation; but when they knew him a little better, and had said the
same things several times, and found that as soon as they paused he
began to expatiate on the advantages and joys of their present mode of
life with Miss Estcourt, of which no one had been talking, they were
bored, and left off being pleased to see him, and fell back for
amusement on their own bickerings, and the probing of Fraeulein
Kuhraeuber's tender places.

About midday Anna, who had been writing German letters all the morning
helped by the princess, letters of inquiry concerning a new teacher for
Letty, came round by the path outside the drawing-room window looking
for the Chosen, and prepared to talk to them of concord. The window was
shut, and she knocked on the pane, trying to see into the shady room. It
was a broiling day, and she had no hat; therefore she knocked again, and
held her hands above her head, for the sun was intolerable. She wore one
of her last summer's dresses, a lilac muslin that in spite of its age
seemed in Kleinwalde to be