But her request was unheeded. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. Her unnatural calm was giving way. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. All her life Martha had been there. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best.
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