“Well, then, you need not be angry, aunt. And it is not kind nor yet religious to call what I say ‘a lie.’ No one ever used such a word to me before.” “You forget. Often I have heard your grandmother say the same thing.” “She was more polite than to say ‘a lie’; she might doubt what I told her, though always afterwards she found out I was right.” “Indeed, Annette, you must excuse me from discussing your perfections this morning. I am busy. Sappha is sick.” “I am going upstairs to see her, aunt.” “You are not, Annette. You have hurt her sufficiently. I will not allow you to go and tell her that Leonard has ‘run away,’ for instance. And I dare say you have plenty of such sharp speeches ready.” “I have not--I have only----” “If they are not ready, ’tis no matter. They spring up to your thoughts. I ask you to excuse me this morning, for I have many things to attend to.” “Very well. You have hardly noticed little Jonaca, and you have really told me to go away. I think you have behaved in a very rude and unkind manner. You can say to Sappha I am sorry for her. If she will remember I told her often that Leonard Murray was not at all sincere. I don’t think he ever loved Sappha well enough to wish to marry her.” “Good-morning, Annette!” And with these words Annette found herself alone. She immediately drove to her grandmother’s. She felt sure of appreciation there. And madame was delighted to see her and the child. She took the little one in her arms and held it to her breast with a soft cradling motion that soon put it to sleep, and then she laid it tenderly down among the pillows on the sofa. “So sweet, so pretty is she!” sighed madame. “I wonder if it is possible that I was ever like to her!” “Once I too was so sweet! so pretty! so loved and happy! but now--now----” “Well then, _now_, you are also sweet and pretty and loved and happy.” “Oh, no, I am not, grandmother. Every one is cross with me, every one seems to hate me--except you.” “_Hush! hush!_ What you are saying is not true. It is unlucky to put into words such thoughts.” “I have just been at aunt Carlita’s, and she hardly noticed Jonaca, and told me she was busy, and I must excuse her.” “Where was Sappha?” “Aunt says she is sick. She would not let me see her.” “Well, then, Sappha looks ill--I have noticed it.” “She is fretting about Leonard. You know he was really made to fight that duel. I think Achille made him fight it, and now he has run away from New York. I suppose he did not like to meet his acquaintances.” At this point Annette suddenly stopped speaking, being admonished thereto by her grandmother’s rising anger. The old lady was regarding her with an expression Annette seldom saw on her face, but which was one she did not care to neglect.