"Now, Anna, I'm empress here; no secret negotiations to overthrow my power."
"I'm just going to say good-bye to Miss Axtell," I said, "for I am going home to-morrow;" and I told her of the letter from father, that I had received.
Sophie got up a charming storm of regret and wrath, neither at my father for sending for me, nor at myself for going, but for the mysterious third personality that created the need for my departure.
Miss Lettie seemed to regret my coming absence still more than Sophie.
"I wanted you so much," she said; "if I had only had you long ago, life would have been changed," she whispered again, as Sophie turned to listen to some pretty nonsense that the grave minister poured into her ears through those windings of softly purplish hair.
"Will you make me one promise, only one?" said Miss Axtell.
I hesitated,—for promises are my religious fear, I do not like to make promises. They are like mile-stones to a thunder-storm. They note distances when the spirit is anxious only to cycle time and space.
She looked so earnest, so persuasive, that I yielded, and said that "consistency should be my only requirement."
"It is not so immensely inconsistent, my Anemone; it is only that I want you to come back again. Two weeks will satisfy your father. Will you come to me on the twenty-fifth of March?"
"What for?" with my awkward persistency in questioning, I asked.