This was a ruse on Anne's part to induce Amy to hold out her arm, so that she might, as it were by accident, discover the sprain, having determined in her own mind, after leaving Charles, not to let Miss Neville know a word about his solicitude; he had appealed to Anne's good nature, and she was willing enough to help him to get a dozen doctors--if he wished it--to see her, but then Miss Neville must not know anything about it; there was no reason why she should, but every reason why she should not. Anne would not, by the slightest word or hint, soften Miss Neville's heart towards her cousin; people must manage their own love affairs themselves, and if they got into scrapes, not get others into a mess as well; besides, Anne knew well enough, or rather guessed it, that neither Mr. or Mrs. Linchmore would exactly approve of it, while as for Charles, she hoped Miss Neville would pay him out in the same coin as he had paid Frances. If her cousin was foolish enough to fall in love with the governess, it was his fault, Anne was not going to take the blame, or have anything to do with it. Then it was evident to Anne's quick sight that Mr. Vavasour was getting up a flirtation too, and if Miss Neville was wise she would improve upon that, there being no one in the world to say a word against his falling desperately in love with her, if he liked; he was a rich man, and his own master entirely, and ought to have a wife to help him spend his money, whereas Charles's fortune was all built upon expectations; it was true he had some four or five hundred a year, but that might, in the end, starve a wife, or turn her into a household drudge. There was not a shadow of doubt in Anne's mind which of the two ought to be the object of Miss Neville's choice; but true love never did run smooth, and she supposed she would choose Charles, simply on account of the difficulties that stood in her way. She only wished, with a sigh, she was the chosen one, instead of Miss Neville--and then--what a dance she would lead the two! "What is the matter with your wrist?" asked she, as Amy of necessity stretched out the left hand for the flower. "I have sprained it." Anne never asked the why or wherefore,--which might have surprised Amy had she thought at all about it; knowing, as she did, her inquisitiveness,--but examined it at once. "Yes, it is a bad sprain, and how swollen the fingers are! and how funny it looks," said she laughing. "Why you might as well be afflicted with gout. How it burns! I should be quite frightened if it was mine." "I am not in the least so," replied Amy. "I am going to bathe it in cold water presently. I think that will do it good." "How can you possibly know what will do it good; you ought to have old Dr. Bernard to see it." "Oh, no!" exclaimed Amy hastily, "there is not the slightest necessity for any such thing. I cannot bear the idea of it; pray do not think of it for one moment, I would rather not see him."