"Missy, you've got through with the book yourself, haven't you?" said her aunt, determined to make her talk, as she was sure her voice, if she could be made to use it, would show her agitation. That was Missy's calamity. Her voice was very sweet and pleasant; the nicest thing about her, except her feet and hands. But it was a very unmanageable gift, and it registered her emotions with unfailing accuracy. Missy might control her words, occasionally, but she could not control her voice, even occasionally. It was never shrill in anger, but it was tremulous and husky, and, in fine, angry. So now, when she answered her aunt that she had not seen the book, and did not know its name, and did not want to read it, the words were faultless, but the voice, alas, betrayed the want of harmony between aunt and niece. That Mr. Andrews had suspected since his earliest acquaintance with them. "Oh, then, I won't keep it out for you," Miss Varian said blithely. "But, maybe you'd like Mr. Andrews to take back your Lecky; I heard you say at breakfast you had finished it. It wouldn't be much more trouble to take two than one, would it, Mr. Andrews?" "Neither would be any trouble, but a great pleasure," said Mr. Andrews, civilly. "Thank you; but there is no need to put it upon you. We have not left our books to chance bounty; the expressman is trusty, and takes them regularly." "We sometimes have to wait three days!" cried Miss Varian, annoyed to have her errand look like a caprice. "Well, I shall try to be more prompt than the expressman. Perhaps you'd better make out your list, that there may be no mistake." "Missy, get a card, will you, and make out a list." Missy again got up, after a moment's hesitation, looked in her desk, and got the card and pencil, and sat down as if waiting for further orders. In the meanwhile Goneril had come in, and was waiting, like a suppressed volcano, for information as to the cause of this repeated interruption of her evening's recreation. Miss Varian sent her for the book, and then said, "Missy, I wish you'd get the card." "I have been waiting some time," said Missy. "Well, then," said Miss Varian, pleasantly, "write out a list of Balzac, beginning with 'Les Petites Misères de la Vie Conjugale'--translated, of course, for Goneril can hardly read English, let alone French. I _ought_ to have a French maid." "Surely," said Missy, "if you want to read Balzac." "I do want to read him, every line," returned her aunt. "'Les Petites Misères.' Well, let me see--what else haven't I read of his?" Missy paused with her pencil suspended over the paper after she had written the name. She disdained to prompt. "Can't you think, Missy?" said her aunt sharply. "I can't," said Missy, quietly.