“Of course not. No man would,” said Anne. “But how could he know? I can play my part. No one would tell him. Kit said he would, but we all know he’d die first, and if he did tell Richard, then I surely would not marry Kit. He would not be himself if he could do such a thing as that. Ah, well, dear Mrs. Berkley and Joan, there’s no way out! And I am a happy girl, even though I am a little bit unhappy, to have an opportunity to do what I can do in helping Richard. How often we’ve said that!”
“Too much protest implies a doubt, dear child,” said Mrs. Berkley. “But I’ve no doubt of your happiness; in one way or another it is coming to you. Little Anne has ordered tea for you. Come and drink it. Let us try to postpone further thought of our troubles. Don’t you think solutions come clearer and quicker when we don’t strive too hard for them?”
While Anne was crying her heart out and making up her mind to say farewell to the happiness which she desired, Kit walked away from her on air. There had been a moment of complete dismay, a crushing sense of defeat, but it had been but a moment. Three and a half blocks it may have accompanied him on his way, but then he flung it off with a sudden reaction of mind, recalling to him his youth, his will, the utter impossibility that his dominating love for Anne should not conquer all obstacles in its way. To be sure there was Richard Latham and it was a pity! It was true that Richard was too valuable to the world to be further crippled, although it was somewhat wearisome to hear everybody insisting on this truth. It was also true, even truer, that as a man Latham deserved the best that the world could give him; Anne Dallas was decidedly the best thing in the world.
Kit repeated these facts to himself, but in this case it was literally true that he could not hear himself think. His heartbeats, the blood racing through his arteries, the tumult of joy that had set up its pæans in him drowned all comments that he made in his thoughts on Richard Latham’s claim. He was going to marry Anne! Anne loved him! He loved Anne and they both knew all about it! What a miraculous revelation it had been! How completely unaware of its coming they had been! What a proof it was that love was actually far greater, far stronger than the lover! It had broken down barriers and leaped forth, not so much in spite of them, as ignoring them. They had not foreseen its escape; they had not known of its presence, or had not admitted the knowledge to their consciousness. What splendour, what glory, what joy there was in being an instrument in such potent hands!
And Anne! Of course he had left her crying on little Anne’s shoulder. Kit laughed aloud, remembering how troubled little Anne had looked, how she had patted and purred over Anne and had bidden Kit run along, as if she had been his small grandmother.
It was hard to think of Anne as suffering. But that was but the first shock to her sensitive conscience. She would see, probably saw by this time, how supremely right it was to love him. It was such a compelling love that it swept from sight gnat-like scruples. He should see her in a few hours and then—she would not cry!
By the time he had reached his aunt’s house Kit had decided that Anne should be married in his mother’s wedding dress, kept sacredly by his aunt. Miss Carrington had loved her youthful sister-in-law, and had treasured her memory as she had taken care of the boy whose birth had cost his mother’s life.
Kit also decided that for the first year he and Anne would live in a hired house near New York. He congratulated himself that he had arranged to go into business with his college friend before he had known that he should so soon have a wife to support. He wondered what rentals were now. He had an idea that they were high and houses scarce, but he knew that he should find one within his limit, because all these details would arrange themselves. No question of that, when the supreme fact that they loved each other had so arranged itself!
Kit came into the house whistling, his face crimson, his hat on the back of his head, his eyes so queer that Helen, meeting him on the piazza, actually thought for a moment that he had been drinking.
“Hallo, Nell!” he cried, jovially, confirming her suspicion. “How nice you look! Isn’t it a corking day? Maybe it’s a bit too hot, but I like heat. Are you going out, or coming in? You look mighty nice to-day, Helen!”