Her little nephew had been named in honour of his grandfather, and there could never be a son of hers who might bear that name. She never thought of this without a secret jealous pang. “I had intended to bring him with me, but I came off in such haste—” “If you were at the farm”—began Virginia. “Now don't, dear,” and Anna put up her hands in pretty appeal. “I know all the many advantages of this dreadful lonely place; I spent the first year of my married life here, and I'm not likely to forget it, for I never gave Bush a moment's peace until he had bought the place in town and we had moved into it. That nearly broke up the family! General Landray—a terribly determined old man—never forgave me for that up to the very day of his death; he wanted us to stay on here. I know just what you would say, Virginia; I know all you would do for Stephen. It's such a pity you haven't children of your own.” Virginia said nothing, but the colour came and went on her cheeks. There was a pause during which Anna moved restlessly in her chair; when Virginia was serious she was very depressing. Anna was small and dark and pretty, and under the cloak of yielding pliant femininity hid a stout heart and certain strenuous characteristics, conspicuous among which was a really notable determination to have her own way in all small matters affecting her comfort and pleasure. Any large purpose was quite beyond her mental scope, but in the trivial doings of life, its little intrigues and sly manouvres, she was an industrious schemer for petty victories and petty spoils. These were her failings; but on the other hand her good nature rarely forsook her, and she was prolific with those kindnesses that involved no special self-denial. When Virginia spoke again, it was still to urge the merits of the change. Anna listened patiently and when the other had finished, said, tempering her refusal with a compliment. “I declare, I never knew you were such a manager, Virginia. You are positively clever. Candidly, dear, I couldn't think of it. It's quite awful; and it's coming summer, too, with all those frightful noisy bugs and frogs to keep one awake nights—I should positively die!” “That's absurd, Anna,” retorted Virginia sharply. “I do wish you would be sensible, Think of the economy of the arrangement.” “That's the very thing I refuse to think of. Do be reasonable, Virginia; what will our petty scrimpings amount to in the course of a year? And Stephen—he must be kept at school, he is awfully backward for a child of his years,” and her face assumed a pretty look of maternal anxiety. “This fall I want to enter him at Doctor Long's Academy, and if he were at the farm that would be impossible.” “It's easy enough to find objections,” said Virginia resentfully.