Mrs. Ware noted that her daughter’s step was not as brisk as usual and saw that the glow was gone from her face, while into her eyes had come a look of wistfulness. Believing she knew the cause, she longed to take the girl in her arms and say, “Don’t worry, dear. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure, for I wrote to him to come.” But she thought it best to keep her own secrets and so what she said was: “Mrs. Winston has just sent word that little Harriet is worse and she wants your father to come at once. He’s not likely to be back here before noon. So I want you to drive me over to their house and then take the message to your father--I know where he is--so he can stop there before he comes home. Get ready at once, honey. I’ve told Jim to harness up, and I’ve only to put on my bonnet.” Charlotte watched them as they drove down the hill, thinking discontentedly, “Mother doesn’t care half as much about me as she does about Rhoda. She’d just give her eyes to have Rhoda marry Jeff, and she never shows the least interest that way in me. I don’t believe she’d care if I was to be an old maid. An old maid! Oh, la! Well, I’m not going to, and I’ll not marry anybody in Hillside, either.” Looking rather pleased with herself at this ultimatum she sauntered into the house and the notes of the “Battle of Prague” were soon resounding through the silent rooms. But the clanging of the knocker at the front door presently crashed them into discord. A moment later she crossed the hall into the parlor, whither Lizzie had shown Jefferson Delavan, thinking: “What good luck there’s nobody at home but me! I wish Rhoda had refused him again first. Well, I’ll tell him she’s going to.” A twinkle of amusement came now and then into Delavan’s eyes as he watched the airs and graces, the sidelong glances, and all the dainty feminine tricks of movement and gesture and poise with which Charlotte accompanied her conversation. It was not her physical habit ever to remain quietly seated, or even in the same position for more than a few minutes. Her restless spirits, her active body and her native vivacity of manner combined to keep her in motion almost as incessant and quite as unconscious as that of a bird flitting about in a tree. Although she did not know it this habit was one of her most charming characteristics. She had a certain dignity of carriage, like her mother’s, which made itself manifest, notwithstanding her absurdly large hoopskirt, and this, with her grace of action and of posture, made her movements always pleasing to look at, while her bird-like flights gave an elusiveness to her manner that enhanced her charm.