‘The season is all stillness and completion,’ Anne said; ‘but I am restless. I don’t know what is the matter with me. I want to be in motion—to do something—from morning to night.’
‘You have had too much of the monotony of our quiet life.’
‘No: you forget I have always been used to the country; it is not monotonous to me. Indeed, I know well enough what it is,’ said Anne, with a smile. ‘It is Rose’s birthday coming so near. I will lose my occupation, which I am fond of—and what shall I do?’
‘I could tell you some things to do.’
‘Oh, no doubt I shall find something,’ said Anne, with heightened colour. ‘I cannot find out from Rose what she intends. It must be a curious sensation for a little girl who—has never been anything but a little girl—to come into such a responsibility all at once.’
‘But you were no older than she—when you came into—’ said Heathcote, watching her countenance—‘all this responsibility, and other things as well.’
‘I was older, a great deal, when I was born,’ said Anne, with a laugh. ‘It is so different—even to be the eldest makes a difference. I think I shall ask Rose to keep me on as land-agent. She must have someone.’
‘On your own property; on the land which your mother brought into the family; on what would have been yours but for——’
‘Hu-ush!’ said Anne, with a prolonged soft utterance, lifting her hand as if to put it on his mouth; and, with a smile, ‘never say anything of that—it is over—it is all over. I don’t mind it now; I am rather glad,’ she said resolutely, ‘if it must be faced, and we must talk of it—rather glad that it is for nothing that I have paid the price: without any compensation. I dare say it is unreasonable, but I don’t think there is any bitterness in my mind. Don’t bring it up——’
‘I will not—God forbid!’ he said, ‘bring bitterness to your sweetness—not for anything in the world, Anne; but think, now you are free from your three years’ work, now your time will be your own, your hands empty——’