Hugh looked at his sister curiously. This was an Anne strange to him. She was so distrait and altogether unnatural that he was concerned. But he asked quietly, “How do you know they’re in there, dear? I don’t hear voices.” “That’s it. Neither have I, for ages. For an hour or more. I just happened to see them going in together, that’s all. They didn’t see me. He shut the door behind them very carefully. It never is shut. He went to a lot of trouble to get it over the rug. I won’t have them disturbed! I’m guarding their privacy! That’s what I’m doing.” “Nonsense, Anne! Of course we’re not going to let him miss the train. Hello! Here’s a letter for Ariel.” He picked a letter from the floor which had evidently been thrown there by Anne when she appropriated the letter tray for her ash tray. “Where’s the rest of the mail?” “Rose took it up to Mother. There wasn’t anything for you. I took charge of Ariel’s.” “You did? Well, I’ll take charge of it now. I’m going to open the door.” For an instant longer Anne clutched his arm. But he moved forward, and she gave it up, dropping back. He stood for some few seconds, Ariel’s letter in his hand, in the open doorway. Then he turned his head and looked at Anne. She was looking past him into the quiet room. Ariel was there, in a chair, feet curled under her, by one of the farther windows, bent absorbedly above a book on her knees. She was so absorbed, indeed, that she had not heard the opening door. Enderly was sunk deep in another chair, the length of the room away. His was a cushioned, low chair. His legs were sprawled apart, his head was tilted back, and his arms were dropped over the chair arms, the fingers brushing the rug,—so total was his relaxation. His mouth, too, was slightly open. His slumber was profound. In the direct flood of morning light, seen all unconscious like this, the boy looked unpleasantly pale and even dissipated, Hugh thought. It wasn’t a pretty picture, anyway, and with a sense of relief, he turned his back on it and crossed the room to Ariel. It was only when he offered her the letter that she woke, with a start, to his presence. But she cried out with pleasure at sight of the envelope addressed to her. Enderly was waked by that and sat up. “Hello. What time is it? I’ve been asleep. I say, _was_ I asleep, Anne?”—For Anne was there, looking down at him. “If a little party like last night’s knocks you out, I don’t see what’s to become of you, old thing! You’ve got two minutes or so to pack in. Come along and I’ll help.” There was something jagged, hysterical, in Anne’s voice and her laugh. It worried Hugh. Ariel was tearing open her letter. “What made Enderly shut the door, anyway?” Hugh asked, when Anne and the novelist were out of hearing. “What door?” She was eagerly unfolding her letter, but Hugh did not notice her excitement. “The door there,” he said dryly. “It never is shut.”