Annie was silent, looking prettily down. Lady Lushington glanced at her and noticed the charming contour of her face.
“If only her eyelashes were a little darker and her eyebrows more marked, she would be a sweetly pretty girl,” she thought. But the lack of distinction in her face was not apparent at that moment.
“You will have a good husband yourself some day, Miss Brooke; and if ever I can help you to bring such a desirable matter about, you may rely on me.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said Annie. “Poor little me! But I am only an orphan with just one dear uncle and little or no money. Lady Lushington, I am so happy here, and you are so very kind to me.”
“Well, my dear, you are kind to me too. I believe we are of mutual benefit each to the other. Now, will you put on your hat and take those letters to the nearest post? You will just have time to get them in before we go downstairs to déjeuner.”
Nothing could be more welcome to Annie than this last remark, for while she was talking she was wondering much in her clever little brain if she could carry out a scheme which had darted through it. The opportunity of posting the letters gave her just the loophole she desired. Taking the pile from the table, she accordingly ran out of the room, and a few minutes later was walking down the street which led to the post-office.
On her way there she met Mabel Lushington and Priscilla. They were coming back after a long, rambling walk, and both girls were rather tired.
“Whither away, Annie?” said Mabel in her cheerful voice.
“To post some letters for your aunt, Lady Lushington.”
“But the post does not go out until the evening, and that hill is so steep and difficult to climb, and it is almost the hour for déjeuner,” objected Mabel. “Do turn back with us now, Annie; I shall so hate waiting lunch for you.”