Wasn't it droll, though, that
lecture being cut so short?" and Annie threw herself down in the
great cushioned chair, and laughed heartily.
Annie Bermond was the youngest of John and Margaret Greylston's
nieces and nephews. Her beauty, her sweet and sunny temper made her
a favourite at home and abroad. John Greylston loved her dearly; he
always thought she looked like his chosen bride, Ellen Day. Perhaps
there was some likeness, for Annie had the same bright eyes, and the
same pouting, rose-bud lips--but Margaret thought she was more like
their own family. She loved to trace a resemblance in the smiling
face, rich golden curls, and slight figure of Annie to her young
sister Edith, who died when Annie was a little baby. Just sixteen
years old was Annie, and wild and active as any deer, as her
city-bred sisters sometimes declared half mournfully.
Somehow, Annie Bermond thought it uncommonly grave and dull at the
dinner-table, yet why should it be so? Her uncle and aunt, as kind
and dear as ever, were there; she, herself, a blithe fairy, sat in
her accustomed seat; the day was bright, birds were singing, flowers
were gleaming, but there was a change. What could it be? Annie knew
not, yet her quick perception warned her of the presence of some
trouble--some cloud. In her haste to talk and cheer her uncle and
aunt, the poor child said what would have been best left unsaid.
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