When she entered it, she was surprised to find how soon things had resumed their usual course. Mrs. Linchmore was at the piano singing, Anne at a game of drafts, every one chatting and laughing as though nothing had occurred to disturb their hearts, Amy could hear the rattle of the bagatelle balls quite plainly in the inner room from where she sat, and the sound jarred upon her nerves. Surely Frances could not be one of the players, for Amy well knew how anxious she must be; and she crossed the room to where Julia had taken up her position by the fire, and looked in as she passed the arch which divided the two rooms. No, Frances was not playing--was not even there. "I feel entitled to roam about at will," said Amy, seating herself by Julia, "as so few of the gentlemen are here, and I think you look lonely. Are you anxious, Miss Bennet?" "Very." "I wonder what time they will be home?" "It may be early, it may be late. Can you imagine how my cousin is able to sit there and sing to those boobies?" and she pointed to where Mrs. Linchmore sat, with one or two young men as listeners. "Some people are able to control their feelings better than others," replied Amy. "You are always ready to think kindly of everyone, Miss Neville; but there is no excuse for her; she is in no way put out; her voice is as clear as a bell, and to hear the way in which she is singing that mournful, pathetic song, you would imagine her to be a woman of deep feeling, when in reality she has none, not even for her good, kind husband." "Mary, the children's maid, is fretting herself to death upstairs," replied Amy, anxious to change the subject. "What is the matter with her?" "Her father is the gamekeeper, Grant." "And her lover one of the game watchers, I dare say." "No, I think not, at least I heard no whisper of it." "Perhaps not; but girls don't fret to death for their fathers; they must die in the course of nature, but a lover is not easily replaced." "I never heard you speak so unkindly," replied Amy. "No, you must not mind it; I am not myself to-night. I feel out of spirits, and could have a good cry, like that foolish old Miss Tremlow did just now; I marshalled her off to bed, for if anything was to happen she would send us all crazy." "I see Mr. Hall has not gone with the rest." "No. And much as Anne talks about men being brave and fearless in danger, I am certain she is glad of it." "Perhaps she has not found out that she cares for him?" "Many women, when it is too late, find out they care for a man. Look at Frances, for instance." "What of her?" asked Amy nervously. "Nothing, only I fancy she is _au désespoir_," said Julia carelessly. "I do not see her anywhere." "No, you would not, when her feelings are such that she can no longer hide them. Then she hides herself."