"My dear boy," said my grandmother, very tenderly, "I suppose that even if you are obliged to give up all hope of ever having Sylvia for your own, you will want to know every day for the rest of your life just how she is getting on." "Yes," I answered, "that is true." "Poor fellow," said the old lady, her eyes a little dimmed as she spoke, "the fates have not been using you well. Is there anything else you want me to inquire about?" "Oh, yes," I answered. "I take a great interest in the institution." "Which is natural enough, since Sylvia is there," interpolated my grandmother. "And I should be glad," I continued, "to know anything of interest regarding the sisterhood, from the Mother Superior down." "Mother Anastasia is a very fine woman," said my grandmother, "and I should think you would be likely to be greatly interested in her. I am going to make some inquiries about the rules of the House of Martha. I see no reason why the sisters should not occasionally accept invitations to tea." This remark startled me, and I was prompted to make a cautionary observation. But I restrained myself; in cases like this interference would be likely to provoke comment, and by my grandmother's desire I went to order the carriage. In less than an hour she returned. I was promptly at hand to receive her report. "Well," said she, "I have visited the sisters, but I am sorry I did not see Mother Anastasia. She was away." "Away!" I exclaimed. "Where has she gone?" "She went to Washington more than a week ago," was the answer. "For a long stay?" I asked quickly. "The sisters did not know," continued my grandmother, "but their impression is that she will return in a few days." I knitted my brows. "You are disappointed, and so am I. I intended to ask her here to tea next Friday, and to urge her, if she did not too greatly object, to bring Sylvia with her. There is nothing like quiet intercourse of that kind to break down obstacles." "Alas," I said, "I am afraid there are obstacles"-- "But do not let us talk about them," she interrupted. "Nobody knows what will happen, and let us be as happy as we can." "Did you see Sylvia?" I asked. "Oh, yes," she answered, "and I had some talk with her, but it did not amount to much. She is trying to make a regular nun of herself,--that is, if a Protestant can be a nun,--but I do not think she will ever succeed. She admitted that she greatly disliked the ordinary work of the sisters, and wished to employ herself in some way which would be just as lucrative to the institution, and yet not so repugnant to her. Now you can see for yourself that that will not do. If she intends to be a sister of the House of Martha, she must do as the other sisters do. She cannot always expect to be an exception. At present she is learning typewriting." I gave a great start. "Typewriting!" I exclaimed.