was writing, heard nothing further on the subject, she had supposed that her expectations had been realized.  But on this day the astonishing letter from Mrs Keswick had arrived, and it made her understand that not only had her impulsive answer been delivered, but that Mr Croft had informed other persons that he had been accepted.  She wished, therefore, to lose no time in stating to Mr Croft that what she had said to him, with her own lips, was to be received as her final resolve; and that the answer given to Mr Keswick was not intended for Mr Croft’s ears.

Miss March then went on to say that it might be possible that she owed Mr Croft an apology for the somewhat ungracious manner in which she had treated him at Mrs Keswick’s house; but she assured herself that Mr Croft owed her an apology, not only for the manner of his attentions, but for the peculiar publicity he had given them.  In that case the apologies neutralized each other.  Miss March had no intention of answering Mrs Keswick’s letter.  Under no circumstances could she have considered, for a moment, its absurd suggestions and recommendations; and it contained allusions to Mr Croft and another person which, if not founded upon the imagination of Mrs Keswick, certainly concerned nothing with which Miss March had anything to do.

The proud spirit of Lawrence Croft was a good deal ruffled when he read this letter, but he made no remark about it.  “Would you like to read it?” he said to Annie.

She greatly desired to read it, but there was something in her lover’s face, and in the tone in which he spoke, which made her suspect that the reading of that letter might be, in some degree, humiliating to him.  She was certain, from the expression of his face as he read it, that the letter contained matter very unpleasant to Lawrence, and it might be that it would wound him to have another person, especially herself, read them; and so she said:  “I don’t care to read it if you will tell me why she wrote to you, and the point of what she says.”

“Thank you,” said Lawrence.  And he crumpled the letter in his hand as he spoke.  “She wrote,” he continued, “in consequence of a letter she has had from your aunt.”

“What!” exclaimed Annie.  “Did Aunt Keswick write to her?”

“Yes,” said Lawrence, “and sent it by a special messenger.  She must have told her all the heinous crimes with which she charged you and me, particularly me; and this must have been the first intimation to Miss March that her cousin had given me the answer she made to him; therefore Miss March writes in haste to let me know that she did not intend that that answer should be given to me, and that she wishes it generally understood that I have no more connection with her than I have with the Queen of Spain.  That is the sum and substance of the letter.”

“I knew as well as I know anything in the world,” said Annie, “that that message Junius brought you meant nothing.”  And, taking the crumpled letter from his hand, she threw it on the few embers that remained in the fireplace; and, as it blazed and crumbled into black ashes, she said:  “Now that is the end of Roberta March!”