Annie made no rejoinder, but her aunt did not seem to notice it.

“I am so thankful, Mr. von Rosen,” said she, “that my niece has the honour of being counted among the friends of such a remarkable woman.  May I inquire if Mrs. Edes has ever seen your really extraordinary collection, Mr. von Rosen.”

“No, she has not seen it,” replied Von Rosen, and he looked annoyed.  Without in the least understanding the real trend of the matter, he did not like to hear his sweetheart addressed after such a fashion, even though he had no inkling of the real state of affairs.  To his mind, this exquisite little Annie, grimy daisy centre piece and all, had accomplished much more in simply being herself, than had Margaret Edes with her much blazoned book.

“I trust that she will yet see it,” said Miss Harriet Eustace.  Harriet Eustace was tall, dull skinned and wide mouthed, and she had a fashion, because she had been told from childhood that her mouth was wide, of constantly puckering it as if she were eating alum.

“I shall be of course pleased to show Mrs. Edes my collection at any time,” said Von Rosen politely.

“I hope she will see it,” said Harriet, puckering, “it is so improving, and if anything is improving to the ordinary mind, what must it be to the mind of genius?”

The two took leave then, Annie walking behind her aunt.  The sidewalk which was encroached upon by grass was very narrow.  Annie did not speak at all.  She heard her aunt talking incessantly without realising the substance of what she said.  Her own brain was overwhelmed with bewilderment and happiness.  Here was she, Annie Eustace, engaged to be married and to the right man.  The combination was astounding.  Annie had been conscious ever since she had first seen him, that Karl von Rosen dwelt at the back of her thoughts, but she was rather a well disciplined girl.  She had not allowed herself the luxury of any dreams concerning him and herself.  She had not considered the possibility of his caring for her, not because she underestimated herself, but because she overestimated him.  Now, she knew he cared, he cared, and he wanted to marry her, to make her his wife.  After she had reached home, when they were seated at the tea table, she did not think of telling anybody.  She ate and felt as if she were in a blissful crystal sphere of isolation.  It did not occur to her to reveal her secret until she went into her grandmother’s room rather late to bid her good night.  Annie had been sitting by herself on the front piazza and allowing herself a perfect feast in future air-castles.  She could see from where she sat, the lights from the windows of the Edes’ house, and she heard Wilbur’s voice, and now and then his laugh.  Margaret’s voice, she never heard at all.  Annie went into the chamber, the best in the house, and there lay her grandmother, old Ann Maria Eustace, propped up in bed, reading a novel which was not allowed in the Fairbridge library.  She had bidden Annie buy it for her, when she last went to New York.