"Ah! dear Julia," said she, catching her arm and dragging her to a window, "I thought you would never come.—Well, are we to spend the winter together—have you spoken to your dear, dear aunt, about it?"
"You shall know in good time, my Anna," said Julia, mindful of the wishes of her aunt, and speaking with a smile that gave Anna an assurance of her success.
"Oh! what a delightful winter we will have!" cried Anna, in rapture.
"I am tongue-tied at present," said Julia, laughing; "but not on every subject," she continued, blushing to the eyes; "do tell me of St. Albans—of Regulus—who is he?"
"Who is he?" echoed Anna—"why, nobody!—one must have something to write about, you know, to a friend."
Julia felt sick and faint—her colour left her cheeks as she forced a smile, and uttered, in a low voice—"But Antonio—Stanley?"
"A man of straw," cried Anna, with unfeeling levity; "no such creature in the world, I do assure you!"
Julia made a mighty effort to conquer her emotions, and wildly seizing Anna by the arm, she pointed to her aunt's coachman, who was at work on his carriage at no great distance, and uttered—
"For God's sake, who is he?"
"He!" cried Anna, in surprise, "why, your driver—and an ugly wretch he is!—don't you know your own driver yet?"