Mr. Kirkby put his note-book carefully away. It might be a false clue, but it might be the exact one. Aunt Betsy could not remember much about those things which had happened recently, but of the things of long ago she loved to speak in detail, as do most old persons.
A few days later, in company with the good rector, Terrence Wirt went up to London. If their talk had happened to fall upon the subject of Anita in all probability Terrence might have learned a great deal, but they spoke of the war, of Terrence's part in it, of present dangers and future hopes, so that Anita's secret was still her own.
The first news from the rector which came to Primrose Cottage gave hope of a successful outcome of the operation. "The doctors now think that he will in all probability gain the sight of one eye; the other is doubtful. It must be some time before it can be determined. In the meantime he remains in the hospital where he can be under constant observation."
This was encouraging enough, but lengthened the time which must pass before Anita would meet him again. However, something happened meanwhile which would have set aside entirely a matter of less concern to the girl, and did make everyone else lose sight of Terrence Wirt for the time being. Mrs. Beltrán, who continually gave of herself more than her strength would allow, was obliged to give up a continued residence at The Beeches and, at the solicitations of all her friends, consented to call herself merely a consulting nurse, and to remain at Primrose Cottage except on such occasions as appeared absolutely necessary. The two competent nurses whom Mr. Kirkby had looked up were now so well trained that they could manage very well, as none of the cases required constant vigilance, so Mrs. Manning was well satisfied at having both Anita and her mother at home for Christmas, now fast approaching.
It was one day about the middle of December that Anita was about to start out to post some letters when she was met at the door by Mr. Kirkby. "Turn back, young woman, turn back," he said. "You are not to go out. Where is your mother?"
"Upstairs. Do you want to see her?"
"I do most decidedly."
Anita started to call her. "Wait a minute," said the rector, and then as they entered the sitting-room she saw there was some one with him, a tall young man whose face was most familiar. She smiled a welcome.
"Do you know who this is?" asked Mr. Kirkby, looking from one to the other, and rubbing his hands in sheer pleasure.
"Why, yes," answered Anita. "It is Mr. Donald Abercrombie, who used to be our neighbor in Barcelona. We have met several times but have never spoken."