“I can never thank you enough,” he murmured. “You are the best woman I ever met,” he added, looking her straight in the face.
Anne flushed a little; there were tears in her eyes.
“Good-bye,” she said. “I shall look forward to having Sylvia here next week.”
When the hall door had closed, she drew a deep breath of exhaustion and relief.
She had won peace with honour. She knew it, and was thankful. But she was glad to be alone.
She walked round the room, bending over the pots of lilies of the valley, touching the waxen bells of the hyacinths with gentle fingers. They had been grown for her home-coming, and they welcomed her delicately. She stirred the fire to a brighter blaze, and smiled to see its glow spreading to the furthest corner of the room.
Never had her home seemed so sweet, so inviting, so restful.
“It would have broken my heart to leave it!” she thought with sudden conviction.
She looked at the bookcases filled with books all the more precious, because for three months she had not touched them.