"I have always loved him. Ever since I can remember. Do not be shocked, but I loved him even when I married Richard. I was very young, and did it in a sort of desperate revenge because he did not, would not, care for me. I was not punished for my madness, for Richard loved me dearly, and died so soon, poor fellow, that he never discovered the truth. And then it all began over again. Only _this_ time Ward was--different." Another silence followed. Anne did not move or speak. "Do not be unhappy about me, child," said Helen at last, turning on her arm to look at her companion; "all will come right in time. It was only that I was vexed about this evening. For he has not seemed quite himself lately, and of course I attribute it to Rachel: her deadly sweetness is like that of nightshade and tube-roses combined. Now tell me about yourself: how comes on the quarrel with the Llama?" "I hardly know." "I saw you stealing away in your white lace with Gregory Dexter this evening," pursued Helen. "He was as agreeable as ever this morning. However, there it is again; just before six, Nightshade strolled off toward the ravine 'to see the sunset' (one sees the sunset so well from there, you know, facing the east), and Dexter seemed also to have forgotten the points of the compass, for--he followed her." "Then it was Mrs. Bannert," said Anne, half unconsciously. "It is always Mrs. Bannert. I do not in the least know what you mean, but--it is always Mrs. Bannert. What did he say about her?" "Of course I can not tell you, Helen. But--I really thought it was you." "What should _I_ have to do with it? How you play at cross-purposes, Crystal! Is it possible that during all this time you have not discovered how infatuated our Gregory is with Rachel? Ward is only amusing himself; but Gregory is, in one sense, carried away. However, I doubt if it lasts, and I really think he has a warm regard for you, a serious one. It is a pity you could not--" Anne stopped the sentence with a gesture.