All that afternoon Nan sat in a sheltered corner of the garden with a beautiful story that she was trying to read, but her thoughts were continually planning and plotting. She could not and would not be sent to a convent school. She was only staying to keep her promise to Miss Dahlia, but now that Miss Ursula was sending her away, she was freed from that promise.
Just then a maid appeared, saying: “Miss Barrington wishes to see you in the library at once. She’s got a telegram from somewhere and she’s all upset about it.”
When Nan entered the stately library, she saw Miss Barrington standing near Miss Dahlia’s chair, and the younger woman was saying: “But, Sister Ursula, it would be of no use for me to go. I know nothing of law and of things like that.”
“I am quite aware of the fact,” the older woman said, “and I had no intention whatever of requesting you to go, but it is most inconvenient for me to spend several months in the East just at this time. I am president of the Society for Civic Improvements, and an active and influential member in many other clubs, as you know.” Then, noting that Nan had entered the room, she turned toward her as she said coldly: “Anne, I shall be obliged to leave for New York on the early morning train. A wealthy aunt has passed away, leaving a large fortune to my sister and myself, but unfortunately, the will is to be contested, which necessitates the presence of an heir who has some knowledge of legal matters. I may be away for several months, and so I will have to leave you in my sister’s care, trusting that she will see the advisability of sending you to a convent school as soon as a suitable wardrobe can be prepared. That is all! You may now retire.”
It had been hard for Nan to quietly listen to this glorious and astounding news. She did glance for one second at Miss Dahlia, and she was sure that she saw a happy light in those sweet grey eyes.
The next morning the household was astir at a very early hour, and at nine o’clock the automobile returned from the station and Miss Dahlia was in it alone.
Nan joyously ran across the lawn and caught the outstretched hands of the little lady.
“Oh, Miss Dahlia,” the girl implored, “you aren’t going to send me to a convent, are you? Because, if you do, I am going to run away.”
“No, indeed, dearie,” Miss Dahlia replied, as she sat on a marble bench near the fountain, and drew the girl down beside her.
Then she laughed as Nan had never heard her laugh before. There was real joy in it. “Dearie,” she said, “I begged my sister to permit me to do what I could to try to civilize you while she is away, and, because her mind was so much occupied with other and weightier matters, she gave her consent, but she made me promise that you would attend service with me wearing proper clothes, and that I would teach you to sew and also lady-like manners.”