"Grandaunt," began Anne, as the carriage rolled along the country road. Her voice faltered a little, and she paused to steady it. "Wait a day," said Miss Vanhorn, with grim sarcasm; "then there will be nothing to tell. It is always so with girls." It was her nearest approach to good-humor: Anne took courage. "The summer is nearly over, grandaunt--" "I have an almanac." "--and, as school will soon begin--" "In about three weeks." "--I should like to go back to Mademoiselle until then, if you do not object." Miss Vanhorn put up her eyeglass, and looked at her niece; then she laughed, sought for a caraway-seed, and by good luck found one, and deposited it safely in the tight grasp of her glittering teeth. She thought Anne was jealous of Mr. Dexter's attentions to Helen. "You need not be afraid, child," she said, still laughing. "If you have a rival, it is the Egyptian, and not that long white creature you call your friend." "I am unhappy here, grandaunt. Please let me go." "Girls are always unhappy, or thinking themselves so. It is one of their habits. Of course you can not go; it would be too ridiculous giving way to any such childish feeling. You will stay as long as I stay." "But I can not. I _must_ go." "And who holds the authority, pray?" "Dear grandaunt, do not compel me," said Anne, seizing the old woman's hands in hers. But Miss Vanhorn drew them away angrily. "What nonsense!" she said. "Do not let me hear another word. You will stay according to my pleasure (which should be yours also), or you forfeit your second winter at Moreau's and the children's allowance." She tapped on the glass, and signaled to the coachman to drive homeward. "You have spoiled the drive with your obstinacy; I do not care to go now. Spend the day in your own room. At five o'clock come to me." And at five Anne came. "Have you found your senses?" asked the elder woman, and more gently. "I have not changed my mind." Miss Vanhorn rose and locked the door. "You will now give me your reasons," she said. "I can not." "You mean that you will not." Anne was silent, and Miss Vanhorn surveyed her for a moment before letting loose the dogs of war. In her trouble the girl looked much older; it was a grave, sad, but determined woman who was standing there to receive her sentence, and suddenly the inquisitor changed her course. "There, there," she said; "never mind about it now. Go back to your room; Bessmer shall bring you some tea, and then you will let her dress you precisely as I shall order. You will not, I trust, disobey me in so small a matter as that?" "And may I go to-morrow?" "We will see. You can not go to-night, at any rate; so do as I bid you." Anne obeyed; but she was disappointed that all was not ended and the contest over. For the young, to wait seems harder than to suffer.