"Yes, Netta, and now bend in turn to receive my wreath of innocence, not more pure and lovely than the brow on which it rests."
Netta knelt, and the garland was thrown over her flaxen curls. Thus adorned, the lovely maidens strolled up the avenue, arm in arm, and made their way to the study-room, as it was called; a large, airy chamber fronting the east, situated in a retired portion of the house, to be removed from noise and intrusion.
"Now you shan't study or write to-night, for who knows when we may have another quiet evening together? These western friends of father's are coming to-morrow, and our time and attention will be occupied with them. I want to hear you talk to-night, Annie. Tell me some of your eloquent thoughts, your glowing fancies. I'm your poor, little, foolish Netta, you know."
"You are my dear, dear friend," said Annie, throwing her arms impulsively round the slender, graceful neck, and kissing the soft young cheek. "I'm feeling sad and gloomy this evening, and fear I cannot entertain you with conversation or lively chit-chat."
"Tell me what makes you sad."
"I don't know. Are you never sad without knowing the cause of your gloomy feelings?"
"No, I think not."
"Well, I am. Often a shadow seems thrown across my spirit's heaven, but I cannot tell whence it comes; the substance which casts the shade is invisible. Who are these friends of your father's that are to visit us?"
"O, they are a wealthy family with whom father became acquainted in the circuit of his travels last season."
"Their name?"