“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.
“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