“It was a great pity, Annie, that you did run so fast to the post and then toil up that steep hill, for I offered to go for you; and besides, the English post does not leave before five o’clock.”
Annie felt furious, but replied in her meekest voice:
“I felt responsible for dear Lady Lushington’s letters.”
Nothing more was said on the subject during lunch, and afterwards the ladies went off on a long expedition up into the mountains with some other friends whose acquaintance they had made in the hotel.
It was not until that evening, when they were going to bed, that Mabel heard a light tap at her door, and the next moment Annie, in her pretty blue dressing-gown, with her fair hair falling about her shoulders and a brush in her hand, entered.
“Have you time for a talk with poor little me, and has Priscie gone to bed?”
“Dear me! yes,” said Mabel. “Priscilla has been in bed and asleep an hour ago. Come in, Annie, of course. I am dead with sleep myself, and if Aunt Hennie knew she might be annoyed. Now, what is it you want?”
Annie took the letter addressed to Mrs Priestley out of her pocket.
“To talk to you about this,” she said, and she sat calmly down on a chair and faced her tall companion. Mabel was also in the act of brushing out her luxuriant hair, and looked as handsome a creature as could be found anywhere, in her long, flowing, white dressing-gown. When she read the address on the letter her eyes darkened and some of the colour left her cheeks.
“Are you writing to Mrs Priestley?” she said. “What about?”