“I do wish I knew what you meant,” said Virginia.
“Oh, I am so lonely!” cried Anna, with sudden frankness. “Of course I loved Bush, but I can't live in the memory of that! I am not like you, Virginia; there is this difference, why don't you try and understand it;” and then, by degrees, she told Virginia all; while the latter sat at her side, shocked, silent, and indignant. She had promised to marry the missionary. “I thought life had ended for me with Bush's death, but I find I can still be something to some one,” she added in justification of the step she had taken.
“I see,” said Virginia, with unexpected gentleness, and the anger faded from her eyes, and in its place was only sorrow.
“I was devoted to him while he lived—you know that, Virginia?” insisted Anna, almost fiercely. “And I adore his memory, and always shall, but it's not enough,” she looked up into her sister's face. “You will never marry again, you are different from me. Oh, I wish I were like you, dear!”
“What about little Stephen?” asked Virginia quietly. She accepted the situation, she felt there was nothing more to say.
“We shan't take him with us,” said Anna, greatly relieved by the other's altered tone.
“Take him with you where?” demanded Virginia.
“To India,” answered Anna.
“To India!” cried Virginia.
“Yes, to India;” but there was no little trepidation in her manner.