“That little Anne!” exclaimed Joan. “Tell me what happened. I think I know: little Anne has told Richard Latham our secret!”
“And he has been so heavenly good to me; so generous, tender, that there are no words for it, Joan,” Anne confirmed her. “I saw Kit this afternoon. We had parted forever, and when I came back from that walk there was Richard! He will not marry me, Joan! I begged him to marry me, and truly I could be peacefully content to marry him, but he will not listen to it. Oh, Joan, he is so lonely and so fine!”
“He is all of that! I already know it, and some time you will tell me how he proved it anew this afternoon. He couldn’t marry you, dear! It would be horrid to accept such a sacrifice, now that he knows. Try to trust that things will come out better than you fear. Little Anne is not usually disobedient. Perhaps she has been an instrument of Providence. Did you have any dinner? Ah, I knew it! You are coming to make me a visit, so get together what you need for the night. We’ll come around here in the morning and get what you need for as many weeks as you’ll stay. Baby will be such a comfort to you! I’ll let her come into your bed in the morning. She’s the sweetest thing in bed! Antony is downstairs, waiting for us, with Guard. Come, Anne, hurry! Antony hates to sit on a piazza, among boarding women! Where’s your kit—— Oh, Anne, please! I didn’t mean—I mean your bag! And a nightie and toothbrush, your brush and comb. You’ll be fed at my house.”
Joan fluttered about gathering up the articles she enumerated. Anne was swept along, powerless to resist the loving kindness that launched her out of her swamp of despairing lethargy into a tide of action that implied hope.
Antony behaved with the utmost decorum, not betraying that he saw anything unusual in Anne’s disfigured face nor in her unexpected visit. Guard thrust his nose into Anne’s hand; Joan held tight to her arm, all the while talking her friendly, inconsequent talk which had in it more method than was apparent on the surface. Better than any eloquence it expressed sympathy; what was more, it carried with it the conviction that life was not wholly sad, nor its troubles irremediable.
Joan herself got Anne a dainty meal of the sort that can be eaten after crying has worn out appetite and digestion. The tea was perfectly drawn and Anne felt better for it.
Joan let the girl peep at sleeping Barbara before she took her into the cool, restful guest chamber, and tucked her into bed. She laughed the while at herself, saying she was like little Anne, and loved to play house, but none the less she knew precisely what the lonely, discouraged girl needed. Then she traced a tiny cross on Anne’s forehead, kissed her, and said:
“Good-night. God bless you, dear! That’s what Mother always said and did to us. I always knew that was why I slept so sweetly and so safe. Go to sleep at once, Anne, dear,” said Joan as she left her.
An hour later she was gratified to find, when she peeped in, that Anne was sleeping sweetly under her good-night blessing.
Antony was removing his collar when Joan come into their room. He smiled quizzically at her in the glass.