"I must not forget to tell you what Ann Reed is like. She is just a little taller than I am. I know because Dr. Reed made us stand back to back this morning that he might see which was the taller, and he said she was by about half an inch—and she has grey eyes like her father's. I don't call her pretty. I don't call Mrs. Reed pretty exactly, either, but she is very nice-looking, and she seems so young to be Ann's mother—of course, I know she can't be young really."
"I find there are three servants in the house—I asked Ann, a cook, a house-maid, and a tweeny-maid who answers the door and is a sort of parlour-maid and puts her hand to anything; you see, this, being a doctor's house, people are always coming and going, so Ann says. There is a waiting-room for patients and a consulting-room close to the front door, and a surgery beyond the consulting-room. The dining-room looks out into the square, like the drawing-room, which is upstairs—it is not nearly such a grand drawing-room as the one in Agnes Hosking's new house, but it is much more homely-looking and comfortable, and I think you, dear mother, would like it."
"I have been talking to Ann most of the morning. She has asked me such a lot of questions about you all, and about Ruth in particular; now she has left me so that I shall not be disturbed in my writing."
"By the way, I find we dine at seven o'clock. Won't it be strange for me to have dinner in the evening? I will write again very soon and tell you how I am getting on. I am longing to see what Barford is like, so I hope the weather will clear up soon."
"My bedroom is next to Ann's. It is such a nice room, rather small, but so cosy; it has been re-done up for me. The wallpaper is very pretty, just what I would have chosen, with little bunches of pink rosebuds on a white ground, and the furniture is enamelled white. Ann says her mother expects her to keep her bedroom very tidy, so I must bear that in mind and keep mine tidy too."
"Oh, dear mother, though everyone is so kind, you cannot think how much I miss you, and last night, after I was in bed, I couldn't help having a little weep when I thought of Ruthie; I expect she missed me, too. Please give her my dear, dear love, and the same to Madge and the boys, and to father and yourself. I hope you will write to me very soon and tell me everything that goes on at home.—I am, dearest mother, Your loving daughter,"
"VIOLET."
"P.S.—Please remember me to Barbara. Ann says she is glad we are not going to school for a few days, and so am I. Tell Ruthie she must not think Ann will ever take her place with me; she isn't quite what I expected to find her, though. Good-bye."
This letter was read aloud by Mrs. Wyndham to her husband and children on the afternoon of its arrival. On the whole it was considered very satisfactory.
"But what does she mean by saying that Ann is not quite what she expected to find her?" said Mr. Wyndham. "She had formed a mental picture of her, I suppose, and the reality has disappointed her," he added with an amused smile.