"If you must be unpunctual at all," said Mrs Forrest--"and I suppose young people will be thoughtless sometimes--I must beg that you will at least be careful not to let it occur at church time. Nothing displeases your uncle more than the irreverence of coming in late as you did to-day. It is a bad example to the whole village, besides being very wrong in itself. As a whole," she continued, after a pause, "I have very little fault to find with your behaviour; you try to please me, I think, in every respect, but in this matter of punctuality, Anna, there is room for improvement. Now, you were a quarter of an hour late for dinner one night. You had been with Delia Hunt then too. I begin to think you run about too much with her: it seems to make you forgetful and careless."

"But," said Anna, impulsively, "my being late had nothing at all to do with Delia this time. I was with Daisy Oswald."

"Daisy Oswald!" repeated Mrs Forrest, in a tone of surprise. "When did you make Daisy Oswald's acquaintance?"

She turned sharply to her niece with a searching glance. Anna blushed and hesitated a little.

"I--we--Delia and I met her father as we were walking home from Dornton.

He asked me to go and see his cows; and then, after Delia had left me, I met his little girl in the lane just near the farm."

Mrs Forrest was silent. She could not exactly say that there was anything wrong in all this, but she highly disapproved of it. It was most undesirable that her niece should be running about the fields and lanes, and picking up acquaintances in this way. Daisy Oswald was a very nice little girl, and there was no harm done at present, but it must not continue. The thing to do, she silently concluded, was to provide Anna with suitable occupations and companions which would make so much liberty impossible for the future.

To her relief, Anna heard no more of the matter, but it was easy to see that Aunt Sarah had not liked the idea of her being with Daisy. It was uncomfortable to remember that she had not been quite open about it.

Somehow, since that first foolish concealment, she had constantly been forced into little crooked paths where she could not walk quite straight, but she consoled herself by the reflection that she had not told any untruth.

A few days later Mrs Forrest, returning from a drive with her face full of satisfaction, called Anna to her in her sitting-room. She had been able, she said, to make a very nice arrangement for her to have some lessons in German and French with the Palmers. Miss Wilson, their governess, had been most kind about it, and it was settled that Anna should go to Pynes twice every week for a couple of hours.

"It will be an immense advantage to you," concluded Mrs Forrest, "to learn with other girls, and I hope, beside the interest of the lessons, that you will make friendships which will be both useful and pleasant.

Isabel Palmer is about your own age, and her sister a little older.

They will be nice companions for you, and I hope you will see a good deal of them."

From this time Anna's life was very much altered. Gradually, as her interests and amus.e.m.e.nts became connected with the Palmers and all that went on at their house, she saw less and less of Delia, and it was now Mrs Forrest who had to remind her when a visit to Dornton was due.

There were no more country rambles, or meetings at the stile, and no more confidential chats. Anna had other matters to attend to, and if she were not occupied with lessons, there was always some engagement at Pynes which must be kept. And yet, she often thought, with a regretful sigh, there was really no one like Delia! Isabel Palmer was very pleasant, and there was a great deal she enjoyed very much at Pynes, but in her heart she remained true to her first friend. If only it had been possible to please every one! If only Delia would be kind and agreeable when they did meet, instead of looking so cold and proud! By degrees Anna grew to dread seeing her, instead of looking forward to it as one of her greatest pleasures at Waverley. Everything connected with Pynes, on the contrary, was made so easy and pleasant. Aunt Sarah's lips never looked straight and thin when she asked to go there, and Isabel Palmer was sure of a welcome at any time. The pony-cart could nearly always be had if it were wanted in that direction, though it seemed so inconvenient for it to take the road to Dornton. And then, with the Palmers there was no chance of severe looks on the subject of Mr Goodwin. Did they know, Anna wondered, that he was her grandfather?

Perhaps not, for they had lived at Pynes only a short time. There was no risk of meeting him there, for Sat.u.r.day, when he gave Clara a music-lesson, was a specially busy day with Mrs Forrest, and she always wanted Anna at the Vicarage.

It was strange that Anna should have come to calling it a "risk" to meet her grandfather, but it was true. Not all at once, but little by little, since her separation from Delia, the habit of dismissing him from her thoughts, as well as keeping silence about him, had grown strong within her. At first Delia's scornful face often seemed to flash before her in the midst of some gaiety or enjoyment. "You are not worthy of him," it seemed to say. But it had been so often driven away that it now came very seldom, and when it did, it looked so pale and shadowy that it had no reality about it. Anna threw herself into the amus.e.m.e.nts which her new friends put in her way, and determined to be happy in spite of uncomfortable recollections.

On her side, Delia had now come to the swift decision natural to her age and character. Anna was unworthy. She had been tried and found wanting. Gold had been offered to her, and she had chosen tinsel. It was not surprising that the Palmers should be preferred to herself, but that any one related to the Professor, able to see and know him, should be capable of turning aside and neglecting him for others, was a thing she could neither understand nor bear with patience. She ceased to speak of it when she met Anna, and preserved a haughty silence on the subject, but her manner and looks expressed disapproval plainly enough.

The disapproval grew stronger as time went on, for although no word of complaint ever pa.s.sed Mr Goodwin's lips, Delia soon felt sure that he longed to see more of his grandchild. They often talked of Anna, the Professor listening eagerly to any news of her or account of her doings.

No hint of disappointment was ever given, but affection has quick instincts, and Delia was able to understand her old friend's silence as well as his speech. She ran in to Number 4 Back Row one afternoon, and found him looking rather uncertainly and nervously at his tea-table, which Mrs Cooper had just prepared in her usual hurried manner-- slapping down the cups and plates with a sort of spiteful emphasis, and leaving the cloth awry. He looked relieved to see Delia.

"You would perhaps put things a little straight, and make it look nicer," he said. "I don't know how it is, but Mrs Cooper seems to spoil the look of things so."

"You expect a visitor?" said Delia, as she began to alter the arrangement of the little meal, and noticed two cups and plates.

"Yes," said the Professor, half shyly. "I got some water-cresses and some fresh eggs. And that kind Mrs Winn sent me some trout this morning. Mrs Cooper promised to come in presently and cook them."

Delia observed that the room had quite a holiday air of neatness. There was no dust to be seen anywhere, and a special, high-backed arm-chair, which was not in general use, was now drawn up to one side of the tea-table.

"That was Prissy's chair," he continued, looking at it affectionately; "she always sat there, and I thought I should like to see Anna in it."

"Oh, is Anna coming to tea with you?" exclaimed Delia. "I _am_ glad.

Is she coming alone?"

The Professor nodded. There was a faint pink flush of excitement on his cheek. His hand trembled a little as he touched the bunch of mignonette which he had put on the table.

"My flowers never do very well," he said, trying to speak in an off-hand tone; "they don't get enough sun. And then, the other day I had to pour my coffee out of the window, and I forgot that the border was just underneath. I daresay it didn't agree with them."

"I suppose Mrs Cooper made it so badly that even you could not drink it?" said Delia; "but it's certainly hard that she should poison your flowers as well. Why don't you tell her about it?"

"Oh, she does her best, she does her best," said the Professor, quickly; "I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world."

"Well, she won't improve at that rate," said Delia; "it's a good thing every one is not so patient as you are. Now"--surveying her arrangements--"I think it all looks very nice, and as I go home I'll call in at Mrs Cooper's and remind her about the fish. Perhaps I shall have time to bring you a few more flowers before Anna comes."

Quite excited at the idea of the Professor's pleasure at having Anna all to himself for a little while, she quickly performed her errands, and finally left him in a state of complete preparation, with roses upon his table, and the trout cooking in the kitchen; he himself, stationed at the window, meanwhile pulling his watch out of his pocket every two or three minutes to see if it were time for his guest to arrive.

During the week which followed, Delia thought more kindly of Anna than she had done for some time past. Perhaps, after all, she had judged her too hastily; perhaps she had been hard and unjust; very likely this meeting would be the beginning of a happier state of things between Mr Goodwin and his grandchild.

"Did you have a pleasant evening on Sat.u.r.day?" she asked, when they next met.

Anna was sitting in the Palmers' pony-cart, outside a shop in the town, waiting for Isabel: she blushed brightly when she saw Delia, and looked rather puzzled at her question.

"Where?" she said, vaguely. "Oh, I remember. I was to have had tea with grandfather, but aunt made another engagement for me, and I didn't go."

Delia's face clouded over with the disapproving expression Anna knew so well.

"He didn't mind a bit," she said, leaning forward and speaking earnestly. "He said another evening would do just as well for him."

"I daresay he did," replied Delia, coldly.

"And, you see, it was a cricket match at Holmbury," Anna continued, in an apologetic voice; "such a lovely place! and the Palmers offered to drive me, and another day wouldn't have done for that, and Aunt Sarah thought--"

"Oh, naturally," said Delia, lightly, "the cricket match was far more important. And, of course, the Professor wouldn't mind. Why should he?"

She nodded and pa.s.sed on, just as Isabel came out of the shop.

"Wasn't that Delia Hunt?" said Isabel, as she got into the pony-cart; "what is the matter? Her face looked like the sky when thunder is coming."

Delia felt as she looked, as though a storm were rising within her. She thought of the Professor's little feast prepared so carefully, the flowers, the high-backed chair standing ready for the guest who never came. She could not bear to imagine his disappointment. How could Anna be so blind, so insensible? All her hard feelings towards her returned, and they were the more intense because she could speak of them to no one--a storm without the relief of thunder. She had a half-dread of her next meeting with Mr Goodwin, for with this resentment in her heart it would be difficult to talk about Anna with patience, and yet the meeting must come very soon.

The next day was Wednesday, on which evening it was his custom to stay in the church after service and play the organ for some time. Delia, who was generally his only listener, would wait for him, and they would either stroll home together, or, if it were warm weather, sit for a little while under a certain tree near the church. They both looked forward to those meetings, but this week, when the time came, and Delia mounted the steep street which led up to the church, she almost wished that the Professor might not be there.

Dornton church was perched upon a little hill, so that, though it was in the town, it stood high above it, and its tall, grey spire made a landmark for miles round. The churchyard, carefully planted with flowers, and kept in good order, sloped sharply down to old gabled houses on one side, and on the other to open meadows, across which the tower of Waverley church could be just seen amongst the trees. On this side a wooden bench, shadowed by a great ash, had been let into the low wall, and it was to this that Delia and the Professor were in the habit of repairing after the Wednesday evening services.

Mr Goodwin's music had always power to soothe Delia, and to raise her thoughts above her daily troubles; but to-night, as she sat listening to him in the empty church, she felt even more than usual as if a mighty and comforting voice were speaking to her. As long as the resounding notes of the organ continued, she forgot the little bustle of Dornton, and her anger against Anna, and even when the Professor had finished and joined her in the porch, the calming influence remained.

"Can you stay a little this evening?" he asked, as they walked through the churchyard together; "if you can spare time I should like a talk.

It's about Anna," he continued, when they were seated under the flickering shadow of the ash tree; "I didn't see her the other evening, after all--"

"So I heard," said Delia.

"No--I didn't see her," repeated Mr Goodwin, poking the ground reflectively with his stick. "She went to some cricket match with her friends; she's to come to me another time. It's very kind of Mrs Palmer to give her so much pleasure. I suppose Anna enjoys it very much? I hear of her going about with them a good deal."

"I think she does," said Delia.

"It's always such a comfort to me," he continued, his kind eyes beaming upon his companion from beneath the brim of his wide-awake, "to think that you are her friend. I don't see much of her. I told you I should not be able to, when she first came, but the next best thing is to know that you do."

Delia was silent. She did not meet his glance, but pressed her lips together and frowned a little.