The sisters at the Willows, when they found that Sir Langham did not appear that night, and that no one knew anything of him, made their own conclusions on the subject, but did not say a word even to each other. Agnes sat apart silently indignant, and full of a sublime disdain. Marian, with, a deeper colour than usual on her cheek, was, on the contrary, a great deal more animated than was her wont, and attracted everybody’s admiration. Had anybody cared to think of the matter, it would have been the elder sister, and not the younger, whom the common imagination could have supposed to have lost a lover; but they went to rest very early that night, and spent no pleasant hour in the pleasant gossip which never failed between them. Sir Langham was not to be spoken of; and Agnes lay awake, wondering what Marian’s feelings were, long after Marian, forgetting all about her momentary pique and anger, was fast and sweet asleep. CHAPTER X. GOING HOME. And now it had come to an end--all the novelty, the splendour, and the excitement of this first visit--and Agnes and Marian were about to go home. They were very much pleased, and yet a little disappointed--glad and eager to return to their mother, yet feeling it would have been something of a compliment to be asked to remain. Rachel, who was a great deal more vehement and demonstrative than either of them, threw herself into their arms with violent tears. “I have been so happy since ever I knew you,” said Rachel--“so happy, I scarcely thought it right when I was not with Louis--and I think I could almost like to be your servant, and go home with you. I could do anything for you.” “Hush!” said Agnes. “No; it is quite true,” cried poor Rachel--“_quite_ true. I should like to be your servant, and live with your mother. Oh! I ought to say,” she continued, raising herself with a little start and thrill of terror, “that if we were in a different position, and could meet people like equals, I should be so glad--so very glad to be friends.” “But how odd Rachel would think it to live in Bellevue,” said Marian, coming to the rescue with a little happy ridicule, which did better than gravity, “and to see no one, even in the street, but the milkman and the greengrocer’s boy! for Rachel only thinks of the Willows and Winterbourne; she does not know in the least how things look in Bellevue.” Rachel was beguiled into a laugh--a very unusual indulgence. “When you say that, I think it is a very little cottage like one of the cottages in the village; but you know that is all wrong. Oh, when do you think you will go to Winterbourne?” “We will write and tell you,” said Agnes, “all about it, and how many are going; for I do not suppose Charlie will come, after all; and you will write to us--how often? Every other day?”