This is meant—this silliness as you may call it—deliberately, to confuse you. I know you will think I enjoy that because of what you declare is my romantic nature and my tendency to dramatize; but I do not, dear Sarah. I earnestly wish I might tell you all. I wish I knew all myself! No, I do not wish that. I want to go to a new life, to the unexpected, to have each day reveal itself and its events freshly to me. What I mean to say is: Please persuade Aunt Pea not to send after us, for it will be no use. I am a grown woman and may marry as I please. I wish particularly not to hurt or embarrass her. Tell her—I cannot bring myself to write anyone but you!—that I love her, and thank her for caring for me, and entreat her to remember me kindly.

I shall write to you again when we are far (or near?) away. You may have anything of mine I leave that you want and find yourself capable of wearing. I am sorry that my shoes will be too small for you, but your feet have been somewhat precocious in their growth!

Remember ever and continue to love,

Your loving sister,

Lauretta

P.S. I may become an actress. Douglas says I am very beautiful although I know he is blind where I am concerned. However, I intend to practice reading aloud to myself by way of preparation, should opportunity arise, with particular reference to the characters of Portia and Rosalind. I believe I might engage to play them without total discredit! Adieu.

When she had read the letter four times, each repetition with diminishing speed and agitation, although her toes crimped in her slippers when she reread the reference to her feet, she wondered how she should present it, and the fact of Lauretta’s departure, to her Aunt Pea.

As she stood debating the matter with herself, the bell was rung in the dining room downstairs, the bell that had summoned her and her sister to so many thousands of meals from the time of their first being orphaned until yesterday. Sarah folded the letter hastily and put it into the waist pocket of the morning dress she had put on earlier and hurried out of the room and downstairs.

She found her Aunt Pea seated at her usual place. She wore a flowered cotton dress with a ruffled cap of the same material. Ricey was just setting before her a large bowl of early dewberries.

“Good morning, Aunt Pea,” Sarah said as she slipped into her chair.

“Good morning, Sarah dear. I hope you have slept well. These look like excellent dewberries. Will you have some?”

“Yes, please.”

As she served them, adding cream and sugar to both servings without further consulting her niece, Penelope said, “I gather that Lauretta will not be joining us?”