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was by now exerting every effort not to laugh.
    â€œBut as I told Lord Wrenley, I will not spend half my days primping and trying on gowns. You must take me as I am.”
    With this, at least, Anne was wholly in sympathy. “I shall certainly do that,” she replied.
    Mariah surveyed her approvingly. “There! We shall get on very well, I’m sure. You seem a sensible girl. Are you at all interested in gardening?”
    â€œI fear I have never done any.”
    â€œYes, but would you like to, that’s the point?”
    The fanatic light in her eye made Anne cautious. “I really think I prefer riding,” she answered meekly.
    â€œHorses? I see.” Her tone implied that she saw a great deal, and did not much care for the vision. “Well, I must go out to the park. If I don’t return in time for tea, send someone after me, dear. I am always forgetting the time.”
    Thinking this an ominous trait in a chaperone, Anne nodded. “Shall I ask Fallow to summon the head gardener to show you about?”
    â€œThe head gardener?” tittered Mariah. “No indeed! I haven’t yet come to that .” And before Anne could do more than wonder what she could possibly mean, she was gone.
    The girl sat down with a bump. “Well, Augustus, what do you think of my chaperone? It will be an interesting season.”
    The parrot, uncharacteristically, said nothing.
    By teatime, Anne was feeling rather bored. Charles had not come in, and there had been no further sign of Mariah. For a girl accustomed to having a large group of young ladies to talk to, it seemed a very slow afternoon. Anne resolved to ask Charles about a mount as soon as possible. She would not mope about in this foolish fashion another day. And immediately after tea, she would take a brisk walk.
    With Fallow and the tea tray came diversion, however, in the form of Laurence Debenham, his fiancée, Lydia Branwell, and Lydia’s mother. Anne was at first delighted. Laurence had painted a glowing picture of Lydia at dinner the previous evening, and Miss Branwell initially seemed to justify it completely. She was a fine-looking girl, not as tall as Anne, but above medium height and with a better figure. Her hair was a lustrous black and her skin very pale. She held herself well up, a habit that her arched brows and aquiline nose seemed to emphasize. Her eyes were an alert hazel.
    They all sat down, and Anne moved, a bit uncertainly, to pour the tea. Indeed, she had almost asked Mrs. Branwell to perform this service, but the older woman sank into her chair with such self-effacing timidity that she changed her mind. Laurence, after a quick glance about the room, was at once up again and striding toward Augustus’s corner. “Is this the cover for the cage?” he asked after a moment’s search.
    He looked so uneasy that Anne had to suppress a smile. She nodded.
    â€œLaurence tells me,” said Miss Branwell, “that your parrot has been taught some, ah, indelicate expressions.” Her voice was low and musical, and she spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word.
    â€œI fear he has,” agreed Anne. “I…I hope I may wean him from them.”
    Lydia Branwell shook her head sadly. “I so disapprove of that sort of thing. Men have a duty to treat dumb animals with consideration and restraint. I think there should be laws against abusing them; those who do so deserve prison.”
    â€œYou are always so tenderhearted, Lydia,” said Laurence, coming back to his chair. The two exchanged a tender smile.
    Anne looked from one to the other. Laurence had told her that Lydia was the daughter of the bishop in the neighboring cathedral town. Certainly the Branwells’ clothing, along with other remarks Laurence had made, showed that they were a wealthy family. It was in all respects a fine match. And Laurence seemed to care for the girl. But Anne was beginning to feel certain doubts.