"She isn't very happy to-night."
"You don't seem very happy either," said the child, watching her own face as it quivered in the mirror. "I should think that now Mr. Colville's concluded to stay, we would all be happy again. But we don't seem to. We're—we're perfectly demoralised!" It was one of the words she had picked up from Colville.
The quivering face in the glass broke in a passion of tears, and Effie sobbed herself to sleep.
Imogene sat down at Mrs. Bowen's desk, and pushing her letter away, began to write.
"FLORENCE, March 10, 18—.
"DEAR MOTHER,—-I inclose a letter from Mrs. Bowen which will tell you better than I can what I wish to tell. I do not see how I can add anything that would give you more of an idea of him, or less, either. No person can be put down in cold black and white, and not seem like a mere inventory. I do not suppose you expected me to become engaged when you sent me out to Florence, and, as Mrs. Bowen says, I don't know whether I am engaged or not. I will leave it entirely to Mr. Colville; if he says we are engaged, we are. I am sure he will do what is best. I only know that he was going away from Florence because he thought I supposed he was not in earnest, and I asked him to stay.
"I am a good deal excited to-night, and cannot write very clearly. But I will write soon again, and more at length.
"Perhaps something will be decided by that time. With much love to father,
"Your affectionate daughter,
"Imogene."