“I’ll smoke awhile in the library; it is only nine o’clock,” as the clock chimed the hour. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she echoed, and continued up the staircase.
Curtis listened until her soft footfall faded away in the distance, then turned thoughtfully and entered the library. The servants had spent but scant time after the inquest in replacing the furniture in its accustomed places, and Curtis found some difficulty in moving about.
“Oh, do be careful,” exclaimed a soft voice to his right, and a hand touched his. “This way. I,” her dignity sat quaintly upon her, “I am Anne.”
“As if it could be any one else!” Curtis spoke with involuntary fervor, and Anne laughed shyly, then recollection returned to her, and her expression grew serious.
“I came downstairs hoping to find you,” she explained, her color mounting. “When I heard Cousin Claire and Cousin Julian talking in the drawing-room I came in here to wait until they left. I want,” she hesitated, selecting her words carefully, “to speak of Uncle John’s plan for—for our marriage.” The last words came with a rush, then she paused, tongue-tied.
Curtis Came to her rescue. “I understand,” he began gravely. “We will call the whole affair off. In other words,” striving to spare her embarrassment, “I release you from your promise.”
She plucked nervously at her gown. “It is you who do not understand,” she said. “I don’t wish to be released.”
Curtis raised his head. Had his ears played him false?
“You mean,” he asked slowly, “that you wish to go on with the marriage ceremony?”