She was glowing with gratitude, and Maxwell was asking insistently, "Won't you, Anne?"
She had never been so happy, and he was the source of her happiness. Against this background of vivid life the thought of Murray was a pale memory.
So her wistful eyes met Maxwell's. "It would be lovely—to live here—always."
Later, when she had started up-stairs with her candle, he had kissed her, leaning over the rail to watch her as she went up, and Anne had gone to sleep tremulous with the thought that her future would lie here in this great house with this fine and kindly man.
Winifred, coming down at last, found that she had come too late. Maxwell told her as they motored up from the station.
"Wish me happiness, Win. I am going to marry little Anne."
It did not enter his head for a moment that the woman by his side loved him. He had thought that if she ever married him it would be a sort of concession on her part, a sacrifice to her interest in his future. He had a feeling that she would be glad if such a sacrifice were not demanded.
But Winifred was not glad. "You are sure you are making no mistake, Max?"
"Wait till you see her."
Winifred waited and saw. "She's not in the least in love with him. She likes the warm nest she has fallen into. And she'll spoil his future. He'll settle down here, and he belongs to the world."