She knew that she had no means of living, except by her own exertions; she had not even a rag to wear or a coin to spend, except what should come to her by Mrs. Lewis’s bounty. And, whether that lady possessed bounty or not, she seemed never to possess ready-money. It appeared to Anne that she had been hardly dealt by in more ways than one; that the world was full of nothing but injustice and trouble.
“And I fancy,” added Anne, thinking out her thoughts, “that they will be glad to get rid of me; that they want me gone. So I dare say there will be no objection made here.”
With morning light, she was up and busy. It fell to her lot to prepare the breakfast: and she must not keep the ladies waiting for it one minute. This morning, however, she had to keep them waiting; but not through any fault of hers.
They grew impatient. Five minutes past nine: ten minutes past nine: what did Anne mean? Julia and Fanny were not much better dressed than when they got out of bed; old jackets on, rough and rumpled hair stuck up with hair-pins. In that respect they presented a marked contrast to Anne, who was ever trim and nice.
“I’m sure she must be growing the coffee-berries!” cried Fanny, as she flung the door open. “Is that breakfast coming to-day, or to-morrow?”
“In two minutes,” called back Anne.
“Oh, what a dreary life it is out here!” groaned Mrs. Lewis. “Girls, I think we will go over to Worcester to-day, and arrange to stay a week at Lakes. And then you can go to the subscription ball at the Town Hall, that you are so wild over.”
“Oh, do, do!” cried Julia, all animation now. “If I don’t go to that ball, I shall die.”
“I shall run away, if we don’t; I have said all along I would not miss the Easter ball,” spoke Fanny. “Mamma, I cannot think why you don’t shut this miserable house up!”