"That's just it," said Delia. "He's so unselfish and good, he wouldn't let you or any one know it for the world. He thinks so little of himself, it would be impossible to offend him. It's not what he _says_. Oh, Anna, if you really knew, and loved him, you _couldn't_ let anything else come before him! Not all the Palmers, and Waverleys, and Aunt Sarahs in the world. You _couldn't_ give him a minute's pain or disappointment." She was so moved by her subject, that the tears stood in her dark eyes as she turned them upon Anna. "I'll try, Delia; I really will," said the latter, "but it _is_ hard. Harder than you think. It makes Aunt Sarah different for days afterwards." Delia snapped off the head of a water-lily in her impatient fingers. "Aunt Sarah!" she repeated. Then more gently: "You see, Anna, you must choose whether you'll pain the Professor or displease Mrs Forrest. You can't possibly please both of them. You must choose which you think right, and stick to it. You can't serve God and mammon." How dreadfully earnest Delia was! It almost frightened Anna to hear her talk like that. "I will try," she repeated. "I will do my best, Delia, if only you won't be angry any longer." She put her hand softly into her companion's, and Delia's fingers closed over it in a warm clasp. For the time, the old feelings of confidence and affection had returned, and when, a little later, Anna walked back to the Vicarage alone, she was full of good resolves. She would try to deserve Delia's friendship. She would go often to Dornton, and be very loving to her grandfather. She would turn over a new leaf. "My dear Anna," cried Mrs Forrest, meeting her in the porch with her basket of wet, shining river-plants, "do you know the time? Miss Stiles has been waiting to try on your dress for the picnic. Dear me! what dripping things! Let Mary take them." The picnic! Anna had really for the moment forgotten the picnic. All the good resolves trooped into the background again while she tried on the new dress. But only till _after_ the picnic! When that was over she would make a fresh start, and never, never, conceal anything again. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE BEST THINGS. A rose which falleth from the hand, which fadeth in the breast, Until in grieving for the worst, we learn what is the best. Mrs Browning. Everything went on quite smoothly until the day fixed for the picnic came. Aunt Sarah gave no hint of any objection; the weather was gloriously hot and fine; Anna's new white dress was very pretty--there was nothing wanting to her long-desired enjoyment.