Mrs. Berkley looked at her small daughter blankly, her mind so fixed on the insoluble problem given for solution to three people who were dear to her, that she could not quickly shift it to immediate necessities. Then she caught little Anne into her arms and kissed her.
“Small feminine Mr. Dick, who sets us all right!” she cried. “I’ve no doubt that poor Anne Dallas has the postlude headache. Run and ask Bibiana to make a small pot of her brightest tea and take it on a tray, with a plate of biscuits, to—where are they, Anne?”
“In your room. Make them come down, Mother, ’cause Babs will be so tired staying up there if she isn’t asleep,” said Anne.
“Another good suggestion, my dear! Better break up the talk; they’ve said all that can be said—which is nothing! Ask Bibiana for the tray in the library and I’ll fetch the girls.” Mrs. Berkley arose and went upstairs.
Mrs. Berkley was hailed as a deliverer by Joan and Anne. Rapidly Anne poured out her tale which varied little from the version which Mrs. Berkley had already heard from little Anne; she did not betray that it was not new to her.
“And no matter what pain it entails, I must keep my word, Mrs. Berkley. Don’t you see it so? Especially when my word is given to Richard Latham, of all the world?” Anne ended.
“And I say, Mother, that Anne can’t imagine what it would mean to her to be married to a man, even to such a man as Richard Latham, when she loved another,” Joan took up the burden, shuddering as she spoke. “Isn’t it a sin, Mother? Do you think it right? Oh, I know that there are honour, pity, all sorts of arguments in the other column, but when all is said, how can Anne marry Richard, loving Kit?”
Joan’s vision was unmistakably fixed upon herself married to someone else with Antony Paul in the world.
“It would not be a sin, Joan, that is certain. It would be a supreme sacrifice for the sake of conscience. It might end in sin were the woman not our Anne Dallas; I am not afraid that she, or Kit, would play with danger. The honour that made them fulfil the pledge to Mr. Latham would make them fight against the memory of each other after it was done. I certainly do not think that a hard battle, a tremendous sacrifice, suffering, are to be avoided at the cost of what our conscience says is wrong. The one point for Anne to establish is where her duty lies. That established, she must do it. I have faith to believe that doing it will bring her true happiness. Peace is no slight good, my dears! I’ve not seen people win greater happiness by self-indulgence than by doing a hard thing because it was right.” Mrs. Berkley spoke slowly, her hand on Anne’s head. She was not finding her verdict easy to render.
“Mr. Latham would not let Anne keep her promise if he knew,” said Joan, convinced, but still rebellious.