"I never allow myself to think of it," confessed Anne. "I've been so happy at Overton I'd like to stay here forever."
"Give up the stage, and apply for a place on the faculty," suggested Grace with apparent earnestness.
"You rascal! You know I couldn't do that even for the sake of being at Overton. I am wedded to my art," proclaimed Anne dramatically.
"Some day you will obtain a divorce from your art and marry a mere man, though," predicted Grace.
The color suffused Anne's white face. Her brown eyes grew troubled. "I don't know whether I shall or not," she murmured.
"Anne, would you leave the stage, give up your work, if—if—" Grace paused.
"If David asked me to marry him?" Anne finished the question calmly. "I don't know, Grace. I've asked myself that question so many times that I am tired of trying to answer it. In fact, I've lately decided to let matters drift and see what happens. Although there has never been a word of sentiment exchanged between us, I am reasonably sure that David loves me, and I am very fond of him," confessed Anne. "In some respects I feel years older than you girls. I believe it is due to my stage experience; I have played so many different parts, some of them emotional roles which have to do with love and renunciation." Anne's musical voice trembled slightly on the last word.
"I am sure David loves you with all his heart," was Grace's honest reply. "Now that he has been graduated from college and has gone into business for himself, I am afraid you will be called upon to decide before long."
"I am afraid so," sighed Anne. "I wish life weren't quite so complicated."
"I hope the rest of our senior year will be free from complications." Grace spoke with grim emphasis. "Why, I forgot to open this letter!" she exclaimed, snatching the unopened letter from the table and tearing at the end of it.