Then Annie spoke with force. "I would really like to go
occasionally," she said, "I doubt if I would always care to."

"No, I don't think you would," assented Von Rosen with a queer
delight.

"But I never can because--Grandmother is old and she has not much
left in life, you know."

"Of course."

"It is all very well for people to talk about firesides, and knitting
work, and peaceful eyes of age fixed upon Heavenly homes," said
Annie, "but all old people are not like that. Grandma hates to knit
although she does think I should embroider daisies, and she does like
to have me play pinocle with her Sunday mornings, when Aunt Harriet
and Aunt Jane are out of the way. It is the only chance she has
during the whole week you know because neither Aunt Harriet nor Aunt
Jane approves of cards, and poor Grandma is so fond of them, it seems
cruel not to play with her the one chance she has."

"I think you are entirely right," said Von Rosen with grave
conviction and he was charmed that the girl regarded him as if he had
said nothing whatever unusual.

"I have always been sure that it was right," said Annie Eustace, "but
I would like sometimes to go to church."

"I really wish you could," said Von Rosen, "and I would make an