"Maud has just asked her to write some letters."
"Oh, I forgot. I remember now that both the girls told me that they were too busy; and really Georgina is so careless, and writes such a shocking hand, that I never care to ask her."
"But Maud is always writing to some one."
"Yes; and every one says how clever and amusing her letters are. But really she is quite cross if I beg her to answer a few notes. Girls are so selfish; they never will take trouble for other people."
"I think you should insist on Maud making herself useful. I suppose we should all grow selfish if we yielded to the feeling. Indeed, Lottie must not be disturbed; another scolding from Herr Ludwig would dishearten her. If no one else will write your letters, I must offer my services."
"You, Averil! What nonsense! Thank you, I prefer to manage my own business"—very stiffly. "I suppose the letters can wait." Here there was a slow sweep of a dress over the floor, and the next moment Averil re-entered. Annette looked at her wistfully, but said nothing, and again the soothing stillness prevailed. The black poodle slumbered peacefully; Annette worked on busily; her task was nearly finished. She made up her mind, when it was completed, that she would slip through the open window and explore the green, winding path that looked so pleasant. A garden was a novelty to her, and the sight of the trimly shaven lawn and gay flower-beds was wonderfully pleasant to her eyes.
Another tap at the door—a quick, imperative tap—followed by the entrance of a fair, boyish-looking young man, dressed in the height of fashion.
"I say, Averil, are you very busy? I want to speak to you"—and then he checked himself as he caught sight of Annette.
"I beg your pardon. I had no idea you had any one with you," honoring Annette with rather a cool, supercilious stare as he spoke.
"Good-morning, Rodney. This is my cousin, Miss Ramsay. You knew yesterday that she was expected. Annette, this is Mr. Seymour, my step-mother's son."