"Dearest Nan," she wrote, "I do hope you will like this frock. I really feel that I have succeeded beyond my hopes. Last night I tried it on, and even mother said it was very pretty, while Peggy grew green with envy, and declares she shall ask Aunt Patty to have her another year. Is it not funny to think that you will wear it before the eyes of its former owner? I hardly think, though, that she will know it again. We were so surprised to hear of Aunt Clara's plan, and only think, Agneta is to break her journey in London, and will stay a night here, so we shall all see her! Aunt Clara gives a poor account of her though, says she is nervous, depressed, excitable, and difficult to manage at home, and hints that it is all owing to a 'foolish fancy' for a man who is a 'sad detrimental.' Poor little cousin to have lost her heart so soon, and to one of whom her parents disapprove! Peggy says that it makes her as interesting as the heroine of a penny novelette. We all look forward to seeing her, and mother is going to write and ask her to stay a few days with us. Do write soon and say how you like the frock and tell us the latest about Pollie Dicks."
"Your loving sister,"
"OLIVE."
"So those were tears!" I said to myself, as I folded up Olive's letter. "Poor Agneta! I wonder what the 'sad detrimental' is like. She is to be sent down here to be well out of his way. Probably it is not so much that Manchester does not suit her, as that it does not suit Aunt Clara to keep her in Manchester just now. I wonder how she likes being banished to this rural solitude." And I, as well as my sisters, began to look forward with some curiosity to making our cousin's acquaintance.
We expected Agneta about the middle of the week, but mother succeeded in keeping her for a day or two, and sent us word that she would come on Saturday. An early train was named, and Aunt Patty asked me to drive into Chelmsford in the "sociable" and meet my cousin at the station. It was a lovely day, and I ran cheerfully to get ready. I was so glad that Agneta should arrive on a day when "Gay Bowers" was looking its best. Already there were roses opening their pink petals against the wall of the house, and the flower-beds were bright with scarlet geraniums and verbenas. Through the staircase window I caught sight of Miss Cottrell's garden hat away in the corner to which she devoted her energies, and was glad to think that she was engaged in gardening. Paulina, I knew, was busy with letters, which she meant to "mail" later, so I hoped to get off by myself on this occasion.
But I congratulated myself too soon. When I came downstairs the carriage was not yet at the door, but Miss Cottrell came hurrying in from the garden.
"Are you going to Chelmsford to meet your cousin?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered, putting on my gloves with an air of haste.
"Can I go with you?" she asked. "I want to change my book at the railway stall."
"You had better let me do that for you," I said. "I must be off in three minutes."
"Oh, but I can be ready in that time," she said, "and there are other things I want to do in town."
"Very well, if you will not make me late for the train," I said coldly.