But, once more, in your happiness, do not forget your Azalea. For she is not very happy. No, though now she has much money and some friends—you, always, and Barbara and Annie Laurie, not to mention others—yet she is sad. Things are wrong—quite wrong. I told you I was coming over here to visit Miss Delight Ravanel at her quaint old home, which she calls “Monrepos.” Aunt Lorena was quite willing I should come. She and I had a frank talk together, and now I understand many things that I did not before. “I am going to ask you, Aunt Lorena,” I said to her, “if you _truly_ like me. You mustn’t be polite, please, because that would not help me at all. You asked me to come here, and I came, and you have been very kind, and I have done the best I could. But lately there has been a change. You—you have not looked at me quite the way you used. Or at any rate, the understanding between us is not perfect. So let us speak out and say what we really think.” A silly woman would have been disagreeable, probably, at having a young girl speak this way, but Aunt Lorena is not silly, and she is not disagreeable. “Azalea,” she said quietly, “I truly like you. I am, indeed, happily surprised in you. I like you better as a house companion than I thought I could like any woman. For, to tell the truth, I am not a social person. If I have not looked at you in quite the old way, it is because I feel conscious of the complications that have arisen. I do not believe, Azalea, in trying to influence the life of another in the way that your grandmother has tried to influence your life. It is not right. I believe that everyone should be free in this world, so far as possible, and your grandmother has taken your freedom away from you.” “Yes,” I said, “she has. But she meant to be wise and kind for me. I loved her, Aunt Lorena, and I always shall.” “Are you willing to abide by the terms of her will? Are you willing to marry the man your uncle approves of—the man who will, according to your grandmother’s idea, bring credit to the family?” She looked so intense and sympathetic that I couldn’t help laughing. “I am willing to marry just one man,” I found courage to say. “I hope uncle will approve of him.” “If you mean Keefe O’Connor,” she said in her high voice, “you will see that your hopes are not realized. Your uncle likes him very much personally, but your grandmother did not. Or at least, she did not approve of having him enter the Knox family. It was to keep him from doing so that she made her will as she did. She told your uncle that.” Carin, was it very bad of me to laugh again. “Then,” I said, “I shall have to let the fortune go, Aunt Lorena.” She lifted both of her thin white hands in warning.