Miss Harper was lying as usual, but had a writing-case before her, and it was astonishing what neat caligraphy those weak childish-looking fingers could execute. It resembled the writer's own mind—clear, delicate, well-arranged, exact.
“We are not come to stay very long; but do we interrupt you, Elizabeth?”
“Never, Anne, dear! I was only writing to Frederick. He is gone abroad, you are aware?”
“Yes.”
“I want to know why he went? Has Nathanael told either of you?” said Elizabeth, fixing her quick eyes on both her visitors.
Both answered in the negative—Miss Valery saying, with attempted gaiety, “You know, one might as well question a stone wall as Nathanael. He can be both deaf and dumb.”
“Not to me. Everybody tells me everything, or I find it out. I found out that this little lady had a chance of being my sister-in-law before ever she herself was certain of the fact. Ah, Agatha, you should have seen Nathanael when he came down to us that week.”
“What did he do?” the young wife asked, not without some painful curiosity—for sometimes, in the moments when she could not “make out” her husband's rather peculiar character, a wicked demon had whispered that perhaps Mr. Harper had never truly loved her, or that his devotion was too sudden to be a lasting reality.
“What did he do?—Oh, nothing. He was very quiet, very self-possessed. You could hardly tell he was in love at all. Nobody ever guessed it but I—not even Anne. But in love or not, I saw that he was determined to have you; and when Nathanael determines on a thing—Oh, I knew you would be married to him! You could not help it!”
“Nor did she wish—nor need she,” said Anne, gently, as she saw Agatha's confusion. “But we shall soon cease teasing our young couple. I hear that at Christmas we shall have another marriage in the family. Edward Thorpe has got the living—the richest one.”