As a matter of fact Anne had few opportunities for making Ariel feel at home. She was off with Enderly skiing or teaing or dancing, all day and most of the nights. They were even included in one or two parties at Holly. This was plainly very gratifying to Anne, in spite of her dislike of Joan Nevin, for never before had she even hoped to meet the celebrities who fluttered around Holly’s hospitality. To become intimate with such a brilliant and well-known group of people, even though most of them were, from her point of view, quite aged, was something to talk about after vacation, back at college. That she owed the privilege of these contacts to Prescott Enderly only added to the headiness of it. Already his fame had given Anne a glamour with undergraduates and even faculty at Smith. Glenn spent very little time with his friend or any one else. He was deep in Spengler, adventuring with his own mind, this vacation. He had expected Prescott, when he invited him to Wild Acres, to read Spengler with him part of the time and write the rest of the time on that novel he ought to be getting done. But from the first hour of their arrival Glenn had seen that opportunity for such occupations was not precisely the lure which had brought Prescott to the country. That was all right with Glenn. If Prescott preferred Anne’s company to his, well, he was fond enough of Prescott to want him to have what he wanted. Besides, Spengler was enough for Glenn. He felt no need of further stimulation. Ariel, with whom he would play chess for an hour or two after dinner, was less a girl to him than an atmosphere, at first. He felt her as one feels the clear depths of a stream one may be sitting near, or music one isn’t intellectually following, but which creates a mood all the same. Mrs. Weyman, those evenings of Hugh’s absence, was deep in books on psychoanalysis. It was a recent interest with her and apparently absorbing. She was so occupied just at this time with finding explanations for the things which had hitherto baffled her in her children, her friends and even in herself, that she was saved from too much concern over the stranger under her roof. “Grandam is coming down for lunch. I’m glad we all happen to be at home, now that she’s able to join us again. You haven’t met her yet, have you, Prescott? And Ariel hasn’t.” It was the third day of Hugh’s absence and Ariel’s loneliness. Anne laughed. “Well, neither have I, if it comes to that, Mother. Not this vacation. Do you realize? Each time I’ve tried to go up to say ‘Howdy,’ that old Peters of hers has come across with some excuse or other. She was asleep. Or away on a journey....” “Come, now!” Enderly interrupted. “Your grandmother isn’t a heathen god, is she? You’ve made her pretty mysterious, you and Glenn,—but this is the first time you’ve been so definite in your implications.”