“No, indeed, grandmother! I think it will be very hard to sit here all evening and not know what is going on; shall we walk over to uncle’s now?” “Three hours after lunch? No!” “Kouba said the Clark boys were in the crowd; suppose I write and ask Mrs. Clark and Elsie and Sally to take tea with us. Then the men will come later, and we shall hear whatever there is to hear.” “The Clarks may not care to come.” “Yes they will. Let me write and ask them. We do want some one to talk to, grandmother.” Permission being at last obtained, Annette wrote one of her nicest notes and they sent it with a slave woman across the street to the Clarks’ house. Mrs. Clark read it, laughed, and then called her daughter Sally. “Sally,” she said, “that little minx over the way has found out that Leonard Murray is here. Answer this invitation as pleasantly as possible, but tell her we cannot leave our own home to-night, as we have company.” “We might ask Annette here, mother.” “That is what she expects us to do.” “She is so pretty and cheerful.” “We will do without her beauty and her cheerfulness to-night.” “Joe is very fond of her.” “That is not the question; answer as I have told you.” But though Sally made the answer as kind as her own kind heart, nothing atoned to Annette for the fact that her little scheme--though one with a double aspect--had failed in both directions. “They cannot come, grandmother, and they do not even ask us over there--they have company. I know who it is, for I am sure I saw Leonard Murray with the Clark boys an hour ago. But then----” “What?” “Sally is really ugly, and though Elsie has a pretty face, she is as dowdy as can be.” “And so much prettier is Annette de Vries--is that what you mean?” “Yes, that is ‘the because’ of the slight.” “Of such a thing I would not think. ‘The because’ has nothing to do with us. And a very sweet girl is Sally Clark. Every one loves her.” “Don’t scold me, grandmother. I have had already three disappointments. To-day is very unlucky.” “Then sit still and let it go by. Take the days as they come to you, child.” Annette did not immediately answer. She had gone to the window and was looking eagerly out. There was a sound of footsteps and of voices in spirited conversation. Listening and looking, she waited until voices and footsteps became faint in the distance. Then she turned to her grandmother with a shrug of satisfaction: “I was right, as I generally am,” she said. “The Clark boys, with Leonard Murray, have just gone by. Leonard is their company. What is he there for? He never used to care for those girls. Before he went to college ‘from Sapphira to Sapphira was the limit of his way.’” “Thou foolish one! He is none of thy affair.” “I do not care a button for Leonard Murray, but I think my cousin Sapphira does, and--and----”