“Do you think it silly? I think it is heavenly sweet, and quite proper. Yes, the dear Achille continually invents new names for me. The ‘fair Annette’ is out of date. I am now his ‘Heart’s Desire!’ I am afraid he is distractingly in love with me.” “But why do you fear it? Are you not in love with the dear Achille?” “I fear it, because I am sure that I am life or death to him; and I am not quite sure that I am in love with any one--it is such a responsibility. Are you in love with Leonard?” “What is the use of being in love, when you cannot marry for nearly three years. I have promised father and mother not to engage myself to any one until after the war.” “How foolish! Such silly promises ought to be broken--are made to be broken. Does Leonard want to marry you?” “I wish you would ask him. In so many ways Leonard is inscrutable. He has some business on hand now that he is keeping a secret. I think secrets are in the air. Pray, when will you marry Achille? Or has he not asked you yet?” “My dear Sappha, he is the most sensitive of mortals. He says love should not be talked about--it makes it common; takes off all the bloom and glory from Cupid’s wings; just as handling the butterfly makes it crushed and shabby. I think he is right. Achille does not need to talk, he says such things with his soft black eyes that perhaps he had better not say with his beautiful red lips. However, his lips are not as prudent as they might be.” “Oh, Annette! Do you really mean that he has kissed you?--and yet you are not engaged.” “Suppose it is so! I do not feel a whit the worse for it. I am going to be Mrs. St. Ange. I have made up my mind on that subject.” “But Achille?” “That is settled. I intend to marry him. Some people will say I am making a poor match--because, you know, I shall have a great deal of property and money; but I do not intend to listen to any one’s opinion.” “But Achille has not really asked you to be his wife?” “That is nothing. He will do so the very hour I am ready to accept him. I put the question off until after the holidays, because one can never tell what might happen at New Year’s.” “Were you expecting anything to happen?--anything unforeseen, Annette?” “Well, I thought young Washington Irving might come home at Christmas, and I wanted to see him again. I felt sure you knew that I have been considering him.” “He loved Matilda Hoffman.” “I know that, of course. But after she--withdrew, I felt that it might be my office to comfort him. He looked so charming, and so sorrowful.” “I have not seen him lately,” said Sappha.