Miss Vanhorn, also caught in the storm, did not return until late twilight. Anne, not knowing what she would decree when she heard the story of the day, had attired herself in the thick white school-girl dress which had been selected on another occasion of penance--the evening after the adventure at the quarry. It was an inconvenient time to tell the story. Miss Vanhorn was tired and cross, tea had been sent up to the room, and Bessmer was waiting to arrange her hair. "What have you been doing now?" she said. "Climbing trees? Or breaking in colts?"
Anne told her tale briefly. The old woman listened, without comment, but watching her closely all the time.
"And he said to tell you," said Anne, in conclusion, "but not to tell Mr. Dexter, unless you gave me permission."
"Very well; that will do. And Mr. Heathcote is right; you are not to breathe a word of this adventure to any one. But what fascination it is, Anne Douglas, which induces you to hang yourself over rocks, and climb up into caves, I can not imagine! Luckily this time you had not a crowd of spectators. Bring me the fern, and--But what, in the name of wonder, are you wearing? Go to your room immediately and put on the lavender silk."
"Do as I bid you. Bessmer, you can come in now. I suppose it is ordered for the best that young girls should be such hopeless simpletons!"
"No summer ever came back, and no two summers ever were alike. Times change, and people change; and if our hearts do not change as readily, so much the worse for us."--NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
"But, ah! who ever shunn'd by precedent The destined ills she must herself assay?"
When Miss Vanhorn and her niece entered the ball-room, late in the evening, heads were turned to look at them; for the old woman wore all her diamonds, fine stones in old-fashioned settings, and shone like a little squat-figured East Indian god. Anne was beside her, clad in pale lavender--an evening costume simply made, but more like full dress than anything she had yet worn. Dexter came forward instantly, and asked her to dance. He thought he had never seen her look so well--so much like the other ladies; for heretofore there had been a marked difference--a difference which he had neither comprehended nor admired. Anne danced. New invitations came, and she accepted them. She was enjoying it all frankly, when through a window she caught sight of Heathcote on the piazza looking in. She happened to be dancing with Mr. Dexter, and at once she felt nervous in the thought that he might at any moment ask her some question about the day which she would find difficulty in answering. But she had not thought of this until her eyes fell on Heathcote.