Was she rude after all, this very pretty
girl, who was capable of laughter. "You would not blame me if you had
to embroider daisies on that dreadful piece of linen," said Annie
with a rueful glance at the dingy package.

Von Rosen smiled kindly at her. "I don't blame you at all," he
replied. "I can understand it must be a dismal task to embroider
daisies."

"It is, Mr. von Rosen--" Annie hesitated.

"Yes," said Von Rosen encouragingly.

"You know I never go to church."

"Yes," said Von Rosen mendaciously. He really did not know. In future
he, however, would.

"Well, I don't go because--" again Annie hesitated, while the young
man waited interrogatively.

Then Annie spoke with force. "I would really like to go
occasionally," she said, "I doubt if I would always care to."

"No, I don't think you would," assented Von Rosen with a queer
delight.

"But I never can because--Grandmother is old and she has not much
left in life, you know."

"Of course."

"It is all very well for people to talk about firesides, and knitting
work, and peaceful eyes of age fixed upon Heavenly homes," said
Annie, "but all old people are not like that. Grandma hates to knit
although she does think I should embroider daisies, and she does like
to have me play pinocle with her Sunday mornings, when Aunt Harriet
and Aunt Jane are out of the way. It is the only chance she has
during the whole week you know because neither Aunt Harriet nor Aunt
Jane approves of cards, and poor Grandma is so fond of them, it seems
cruel not to play with her the one chance she has."

"I think you are entirely right," said Von Rosen with grave
conviction and he was charmed that the girl regarded him as if he had
said nothing whatever unusual.

"I have always been sure that it was right," said Annie Eustace, "but
I would like sometimes to go to church."

"I really wish you could," said Von Rosen, "and I would make an
especial effort to write a good sermon."

"Oh," said Annie, "Aunt Harriet often hears you preach one which she
thinks very good."

Von Rosen bowed. Suddenly Annie's shyness, reserve, whatever it was,
seemed to overcloud her. The lovely red faded from her cheeks, the
light from her eyes. She lost her beauty in a great measure. She
bowed stiffly, saying: "I thank you very much, good evening," and
passed on, leaving the young man rather dazed, pleased and yet
distinctly annoyed, and annoyed in some inscrutable fashion at
himself.

Then he