Here was the tiresome subject again! All pleasure was over now. "No, never," replied Anna. "He gives Clara lessons on Saturdays, and Aunt Sarah always wants me at home then." "You are going to this picnic, I suppose?" said Delia. "Does Mrs Forrest know that the Professor has not been asked?" "I don't know," murmured Anna. She glanced quickly at her companion, and saw the severe look coming back which she always dreaded. "Of course," continued Delia. "It does not in the least matter, as far as he is concerned, for he would not, in any case, go; but I should have thought his relations would have felt it a slight; and I can't understand Mrs Palmer." Anna was silent. She wished now that Delia had not come, though she had enjoyed the walk so much. "But I didn't mean to talk about that," resumed Delia, with an effort. "What I wanted to say has nothing to do with the picnic. It's about you, Anna, and myself." "About me?" repeated Anna. After all, Delia _was_ going to be angry, yet her voice sounded quite soft and kind. "Yes. At first I didn't mean to say anything to you, because I thought you ought to be able to see it for yourself. And when you didn't, I was angry, and that kept me silent. But I know now, it was wrong. People can't see things just alike, and I ought to have been kinder, and tried to help you more." At this new tone of humility Anna's heart softened at once to her friend. When she spoke like that, she felt for the moment that she would do anything she asked--even give up the picnic. "Oh, Delia," she exclaimed, impulsively, "you've always been very kind. Kinder than I deserve." "That's nothing to do with it," answered Delia. "People can do without friends when they deserve them. The thing is, that I promised the Professor to be your friend, and I haven't carried it out." "It's been my fault," said Anna, in a penitent voice, "but really and truly, Delia, you may not believe me, but I _do_ like you better than Isabel Palmer--or any one. I do indeed." She spoke the truth. At that moment she felt that she would rather have Delia for a friend than any one in the world. Yet she was conscious that, if Delia knew all, she would find it hard to forgive her. What a pity it all was! "So, what I want to tell you," continued Delia, "and what I ought to have told you before, is this. I've let you think that your grandfather doesn't mind your going so seldom to see him--but I know that he does." She paused and looked earnestly at Anna. "Grandfather never says anything about it," Anna murmured.