"How I love Crown Anstey!" she said to me one evening; "if I were asked
to choose between being crowned Queen of Great Britain or mistress of
Crown Anstey, I should prefer to remain here."

How well I remember that evening! The golden summer was dying then; the
flowers seemed to be yielding all their sweetest perfumes to it; there
was a lovely light from the evening sky that lingered on the tufted lime
trees; the birds were singing a faint, sweet vesper hymn; the time so
soon was coming when they were to cross the sunny seas in search of
warmer climes.

I had been reading to Clare, but she did not seem to be quite so well
and asked to be left alone.

"Let Coralie play and sing for you, Edgar," she said; "I shall hear the
faint sound of it, and it will make me happy, because I shall know you
are well amused." I did not like to tell her how distasteful Coralie's
playing and singing were to me. We went into the drawing-room together.
I saw how everything was prepared for me; there were fresh flowers, my
favorite periodicals, my favorite chair, placed in the nook I liked
best.

"I shall sing to you some gay French chansons," said Coralie, "and we
will leave the door open so that Clare may hear them."

A few moments later and I was in an atmosphere of delight. The rich,
sweet music rose and fell; it cheered me like strong wine.

Then after a time its character changed; it was no longer gay,
triumphant and mirthful. The very spirit of love and pathos seemed to