"Just a year," said Anne.
"I suppose you cared for him then," said Janet. "But I expect it was in a more sensible way than I did. You were always so much wiser than me. One lives and learns."
"I cared for him then," said Anne, busying herself making tea for her friend. When she had made it she went to a side table, and took from it a splendid satin tea cosy, which she placed over the teapot. It had been Janet's wedding present to her.
Janet's eyes lighted on it with pleasure.
"I am glad you use it every day," she said. "I was so afraid you would only use it when you had company."
Anne stroked it with her slender white hand. There was a kind of tender radiance about her which Janet had never observed in her before.
"It makes me happy that you are happy," said Janet. "I only hope it will last. I felt last year that you were in trouble. Since then it has been my turn."
"I wish happiness could have come to both of us," said Anne.
"Do you remember our talk together," said Janet, spreading out a clean pocket-handkerchief on her knee, and stirring her tea, "and how sentimental I was? I daresay you thought at the time how silly I was about George. I see now what a fool I was."