Three months previously, Anne would have been helpless in her hands; too nervous and self-mistrustful to cope with a blustering woman of the world. Now, scarcely to her own surprise, so insensibly had the change in her been wrought, to all Mrs. Crosby’s attempted coercion, she preserved a self-possessed opposition. Mrs. Burbage did not wish to see her nephew, or his wife. That was enough. She did not see them. After two days which exercised all Anne’s powers of tact and self-restraint, Mrs. Crosby returned to her Devonshire home, her husband in tow, infuriated and baffled by the quiet woman whose imperturbable dignity still further roused her resentment. “Mark my words Fred, that’s a designing creature!” she exclaimed as they drove to the station. “She behaves as though she were mistress of the place. An ugly pale-faced woman like that!” “My dear, I don’t think her ugly exactly, and her figure is certainly very good,” murmured Fred, whose folly was proverbial. “Ridiculous!” panted his wife. “You’re a perfect fool, Fred! I hope your aunt won’t leave her a farthing. It would serve her right. Fortunately we know that the place and everything is yours, otherwise I should leave no stone unturned to get rid of that young person.” Anne was occupied next day with preparations for the removal of her friend to the nursing home in London decided upon by the doctors. Only the nurse accompanied her. “No, my dear. I refuse to have you with me,” she said authoritatively to Anne. “What’s the use of dragging you to town when nurse does all I want? If they don’t kill me between them, you shall come up and see me afterwards. I shall want a little change from doctors and nurses then. Just now, you’d only be in the way.” Anne drove with her to the station, and helped to arrange her comfortably in the invalid carriage. “Good-bye, my dear,” she said rather faintly, as Anne bent over her. She kissed her, and with one of her rare caresses, gently patted her hand. “You’re a good girl,” she added. “If I get well, it will only be for the pleasure of seeing you again. You’ve got quite pretty, Anne. I always had a weakness for pretty people. Tell the young man, what’s his name?--René, I’m sorry I didn’t see him.” “He wanted to come to say good-bye,” murmured Anne, trying to control her voice. Mrs. Burbage shook her head, and her eyes closed. “I can’t talk to young people. I’m past it,” she whispered. “Good-bye, my dear. God bless you.” The train moved slowly out of the station, leaving Anne on the platform, blind with tears. She tried to remember that the London doctor thought the case by no means hopeless. In vain. She felt desolate and overwhelmed. She was alone--and her other friends were going too. Resolutely Anne turned her mind from this last thought. She would not tell herself that it was because she dared not face it. They were going next morning; and in the afternoon they came to say good-bye.