How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. “It’s—private. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. Nothing is settled upon. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. Here again the clothes were minus the labels. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full.
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