ould have
happened just now; but I suppose it was to be."

"Are you going to tell her so?" I asked, wondering what Annas meant.

"I expect she will tell me before to-morrow is over," said Annas, with a
peculiar smile.

"But what made you choose that song, then? I thought it so pretty."

"I chose the one I knew, to which I supposed she would object the
least," replied Annas. "She asked me to sing."

When we came down to breakfast, the next morning, I felt that something
was in the air. Grandmamma sat so particularly straight up, and my Aunt
Dorothea looked so prim, and my Uncle Charles fidgetted about between
the fire and the window, like a man who knew of something coming which
he wanted to have over. My Aunt Dorothea poured the chocolate in
silence. When all were served, Grandmamma took a pinch of snuff.

"Miss Keith!"

"Madam!"

"Do you think the air of the Isle of Wight wholesome at this season of
the year?"

"So much so, Madam, that I am inclined to propose we should resume our
journey thither."

Grandmamma took another pinch.

"I will beg you, then, to make my compliments to Sir James, and tell him
how much entertained I have been by your visit, and especially by your
performance on the harp. You have a fine finger, Miss Keith, and your
choice of a song is unexceptionable."

"I thank you for the compliment, Madam, which I shall be happy to make
to Sir James."

There was nothing but dead silence after that until breakfast was over.
When we were back in our room, I broke down. To lose both Annas and
Flora was too much.

"O Annas! why did you take the bull by the horns?" I cried.

She laughed. "It is always the best way, Cary, when you see him put his
head down!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Annas and Flora are gone, and I feel like one shipwrecked. I wander
about the house, and do not know what to do. I might read, but
Grandmamma has no books except dreary romances in huge volumes, which
date, I suppose, from the time when she was a girl at school; and my
Uncle Charles has none but books about farming and etiquette. I have
looked up and mended all my clothes, and cannot find any sewing to do.
I wrote to Sophy only last week, and they will not expect another letter
for a while. I wish something pleasant would happen. The only thing I
can think of to do is to go in a chair to visit Hatty and the
Bracewells, and I am afraid that would be