Kate Clephane turned away from her daughter’s eyes. The look in them was too intolerably sweet to her. Anne was imploring her approval—Anne could not bear to be happy without it. Yes; but she wanted her other happiness also; she wanted that more than anything else; she would not hesitate to sacrifice her mother to it if there were no other way.
All this rushed over Kate in a final flash of illumination. “I want you both!” Anne had said; but she wanted Chris Fenno infinitely the more.
“Dear—.” At her mother’s first syllable Anne was at her side again, beseechingly. Kate Clephane lifted her hands to the girl’s shoulders. “You’ve made your choice, dearest. When Major Fenno comes of course I will receive him.” Her lips felt dry and stiff as she uttered her prevarication. But all her old arts of casuistry had come back; what was the use of having practised them so long if they were not to serve her now? She let herself yield to Anne’s embrace.
That afternoon, as Mrs. Clephane sat alone upstairs, Fred Landers telephoned to ask if she would receive him. Anne was out, and her mother sent word that when Mr. Landers came he was to be shown up to her sitting-room. He entered it, presently, with outstretched hands and a smile of satisfaction.
“Well, it’s all settled, then? Thank God! You’ve done just the right thing; I knew you would.”
Her hand fell lifelessly into his; she could not answer.
He drew up an armchair to the little autumnal fire, and continued to contemplate her approvingly.
“I know how hard it must have been. But there was only one thing to be considered: Anne needs you!”
“She needs Major Fenno more.”