‘Me,’ said Anne, coming slowly back to the light. Her slight white figure had the pose of a tall lily, so light, so firm, that its very fragility looked like strength. And her face was full of the constancy upon which, perhaps, she prided herself a little--the loyalty that would not give up a dog, as she said. Mrs. Mountford called it obstinacy, of course. ‘But what does that matter,’ she added, with some vehemence, ‘when in every particular we are at variance? I do not think as he does in anything. What he prizes I do not care for--and what I prize----’ ‘My dear, it is your father you are speaking of. Of course he must know better than a young girl like you----’ ‘Mamma, it is not his happiness that is involved--it is mine! and I am not such a young girl--I am of age. How can he judge for me in what is to be the chief thing in my life?’ ‘Anne,’ said Mrs. Mountford kindly, ‘this young man is almost a stranger to you--you had never seen him a year ago. Is it really true, and are you quite sure that this involves the happiness of your life?’ Anne made no reply. How otherwise? she said indignantly in her heart. Was she a girl to deceive herself in such a matter--was she one to make protestations? She held her head high, erecting her white throat more like a lily than ever. But she said nothing. What was there to say? She could not speak or tell anyone but herself what Cosmo was to her. The sensitive blood was ready to mount into her cheeks at the mere breathing of his name. Mrs. Mountford shook her head. ‘Oh, foolish children,’ she said, ‘you are all the same. Don’t think you are the only one, Anne. When you are as old as I am you will have learned that a father’s opinion is worth taking, and that your own is not so infallible after all.’ ‘I suppose,’ said Anne softly, ‘you are twice my age, mamma--that would be a long time to wait to see which of us was right.’ ‘I am more than twice your age,’ said Mrs. Mountford, with a little heat; then suddenly changing her tone, ‘Well! so this is the new fashion we have been hearing so much of. Turn round slowly that I may see if it suits you, Rose.’ CHAPTER VI. GOOD-BYE.