Anne laughed.

“In prose, an old friend of Miss Lavendar’s is coming to see her tonight.”

“Do you mean an old beau of hers?” demanded the literal Charlotta.

“That is probably what I do mean . . . in prose,” answered Anne gravely.  “It is Paul’s father . . .  Stephen Irving.  And goodness knows what will come of it, but let us hope for the best, Charlotta.”

“I hope that he’ll marry Miss Lavendar,” was Charlotta’s unequivocal response.  “Some women’s intended from the start to be old maids, and I’m afraid I’m one of them, Miss Shirley, ma’am, because I’ve awful little patience with the men.  But Miss Lavendar never was.  And I’ve been awful worried, thinking what on earth she’d do when I got so big I’d have to go to Boston.  There ain’t any more girls in our family and dear knows what she’d do if she got some stranger that might laugh at her pretendings and leave things lying round out of their place and not be willing to be called Charlotta the Fifth.  She might get someone who wouldn’t be as unlucky as me in breaking dishes but she’d never get anyone who’d love her better.”

And the faithful little handmaiden dashed to the oven door with a sniff.

They went through the form of having tea as usual that night at Echo Lodge; but nobody really ate anything.  After tea Miss Lavendar went to her room and put on her new forget-me-not organdy, while Anne did her hair for her.  Both were dreadfully excited; but Miss Lavendar pretended to be very calm and indifferent.

“I must really mend that rent in the curtain tomorrow,” she said anxiously, inspecting it as if it were the only thing of any importance just then.  “Those curtains have not worn as well as they should, considering the price I paid.  Dear me, Charlotta has forgotten to dust the stair railing again.  I really must speak to her about it.”

Anne was sitting on the porch steps when Stephen Irving came down the lane and across the garden.

“This is the one place where time stands still,” he said, looking around him with delighted eyes.  “There is nothing changed about this house or garden since I was here twenty-five years ago.  It makes me feel young again.”

“You know time always does stand still in an enchanted palace,” said Anne seriously.  “It is only when the prince comes that things begin to happen.”

Mr. Irving smiled a little sadly into her uplifted face, all astar with its youth and promise.

“Sometimes the prince comes too late,” he said.  He did not ask Anne to translate her remark into prose.  Like all kindred spirits he “understood.”

“Oh, no, not if he is the real prince coming to the true princess,” said Anne, shaking her red head decidedly, as she opened the parlor door.  When he had gone in she shut it tightly behind him and turned to confront Charlotta the Fourth, who was in the hall, all “nods and becks and wreathed smiles.”