Joan looked up in surprise when she saw little Anne in costume; she was more surprised when Miss Carrington followed her from the carriage.
“I can’t touch your glove, Miss Carrington; I’ve been washing bluing from every inch of the baby’s surface—she had got the bottle! But please come in! I’ll repeat the operation on myself. Anne is upstairs. Do you want her?” Joan asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Paul; I want her,” said Miss Carrington.
Joan caught the emphasis.
“Anne, Anne,” she said in a stage whisper, as she hurried into Anne’s room. “Come, quick! Our aunt has capitulated; the stage is set for your entrance! She gave me the clue! Miss Carrington is downstairs!”
Anne went down trembling. Miss Carrington stood awaiting her, and came to meet her.
“Please forgive me, my dear, forgive my old attitude toward you. I think you will, later. Come home with me. I have just left your cousin. He was coming here with me, but at the last moment decided to stay with Mr. Latham. Come home with me, dear Anne, and forgive me for not yielding sooner to what I thought a mistake of Kit’s. Now I want you to make him happy,” she said.
“Oh, how can I? Home with you? But—that would be—does Kit know?” stammered Anne.
“It would be coming to us for good and all? Surely! I hope so! How can you? How can you not? Hasn’t there been enough time wasted, enough sighs sighed and tears shed, not to delay longer? Kit does not know; it is to surprise him. Don’t hesitate, Anne! You’ve played a noble rôle, nobly. Be big enough now to throw aside pride and accept your part. Come to Kit, my child, and forgive me.”
Miss Carrington spoke eagerly; she swayed slightly, and her weakness moved Anne’s pity. After all she was, as the girl had long known, a sad, impoverished old woman, whose cleverness had led nowhere, whose aims had been insignificant.