"Alas, Netta! I'm ashamed to say the indefatigable Annie Evalyn has relapsed her energies, has faltered in her pursuit of glory, and surrendered herself to the enjoyment of the passing hour. And yet I was never so happy as now; no, never in my life. To love and to be loved; dear sis, do you know what it is? If not, no words of mine can tell you. Frank Sheldon has never told me his heart was mine, but it is a poor love that needs words to express it, I fancy. He is rich, handsome and honored; yet it is not for these I love him, but because his tastes and feelings are in unison with mine.
"But, Netta, I have to endure some ill will, and cold looks, which detract from my happiness. A share of that experience aunty declared 'better than books,' has been taught my hopeful nature, and often do I think of your kind father's tender admonitions.
"Adieu, dearest; I've told my tale in brief. I need not say, guard it well.
"You have seen some of my simple productions in the magazines, and are pleased to think well of them, for which I thank you kindly. I'm writing none at present. With love to all, I am,
"Truly,
"Annie."
The letter was folded and directed as she heard a voice in the hall calling her name. It was Sheldon's; and a bright smile irradiated her features, as, throwing aside the writing materials, she prepared to go down. He met her on the stairs.
"I couldn't find you anywhere," he said, "and the parlors were dark and cold as midnight. Where have you been and how occupied all the while I've been away winding up that tiresome contract with Hardin?"
"In my room, writing a letter to a friend," she answered, with a pleasant smile, as he was leading her through the several parlors, to fix on one exactly suited to his taste.
"Writing?" said he, reproachfully; "O, Annie!"