He found that he had been right. The first thing that he saw when he was admitted was the baby, standing beside a chair, her rings of hair exceedingly up-standing and tousled, waving one hand lightly, proudly, to show that she was balancing with but one little fist on the chair seat, yet that she did not disdain to salute a world of her inferiors. The inferiors present--Mrs. Berkley and Joan--made no claim to equality. With a delight that surpassed the baby’s, as if countless millions of human beings had not once stood alone for the first time, they waved their hands at Barbara in return, making sounds as rapturously inarticulate as hers. It ended in Joan’s swooping down on her, snatching her up, burying her face in Barbara’s tiny mound of a stomach and swaying her up and down, till baby and mother were gasping. “Oh, Kit, forgive us, dear!” cried Mrs. Berkley. “You saw how Barbara stood? Isn’t it wonderful, the beginning of living? Think how far those little feet will carry her through the world and beyond the world! Anne is gaining every hour, thank you.” Joan righted the baby, then her clothing, and set her down to her toys on a blanket on the floor, to which Barbara, who was the embodiment of health and hence of contentment, turned with the interest of an hour’s separation from them. “Kit, nice boy, anything wrong?” asked Joan, seeing, now that the baby was settled and she looked well at Kit, that he was changed. Kit sat down on a chair that allowed him to rest an elbow on its arm and shade his face with his hand. “Richard Latham is going to marry----” “Anne Dallas!” cried Joan, and exchanged significant looks with her mother. “I was afraid of that; he’s so fine and she’s so sympathetic----” “Joan!” warned Mrs. Berkley. She shook her head hard at her daughter. She and Joan had long suspected that the interest growing up between Anne and Kit was stronger than either had gauged. It would never do to let him know that they feared that Anne loved Richard less than she should love the man whom she married. Kit made no secret of his unhappiness to these two simple, sweet women. “He’s the finest fellow I ever saw,” said Kit. “He’s all around fine. Always makes me think of the Round Table, those great old knightly chaps. She couldn’t find another like him short of--Camelot!” Poor Kit made a sorry attempt to laugh. “All the same, I’d rather she’d choose someone more ordinary, provided that I could nominate him.” “I, myself, would have selected another sort of man for Anne,” said Joan, making up for her narrow escape from indiscretion by her most mature manner. “I’m sorry, Kit! Mother and I are both sorry, aren’t we, Mother?”