"I know just as much now as I did at first, and perhaps a trifle less," said Grace.
Then taking Anne by the shoulders she marched her into the sitting room, shoved her into the easy-chair opposite her own and said, "Now, begin at the beginning, and don't leave out any details."
"Well," said Anne, drawing a long breath, "when I reached home after leaving you, I found a letter for me postmarked New York City. For an instant I thought it was from my father, but the hand writing was not his. I opened it, and who do you suppose it was from?"
"I don't know, and I'm a poor guesser, so tell me," responded Grace.
"It was from Mr. Everett Southard."
"No! Really?" cried Grace. "How nice of him to write to you."
"But I haven't told you the nicest part," continued Anne. "He wants me to go to New York to play a six-weeks' engagement in his company."
"Anne Pierson, you don't mean it," ejaculated Grace in intense astonishment.
"Grace Harlowe, I do mean it," retorted Anne. "Why it's the very opportunity that I've been yearning for, but never expected to get. Let me read you his letter."
Unfolding the letter that she had been holding in one hand, Anne read: