It was a happy little luncheon party. Kit felt unaccountably soothed and heartened. The sense of loss, the jealous pang of leaving Anne to Richard, were softened. They did not talk of great things, nor brilliantly, but Mrs. Berkley and Joan talked well; their subjects were interesting, and it seemed to Kit that they judged justly and expressed themselves with temperance. “Balanced, wise women!” Kit thought, judging in his turn. The baby did pound, it was true, but except for a frustrated attempt on the cream, and, later, on the rosily alluring strawberries, she behaved with propriety, admitting her premise that a spoon and a drum stick were made for like purpose. “Why not let me cut around home and get that kitten? It won’t take me a half hour, and if you think little Anne’s reached the kitten stage of recovery I’d love to see her with it,” suggested Kit when luncheon was over and Joan offered to take him up to see little Anne. “Won’t to-morrow do, as long as she isn’t told about it?” asked Joan. But seeing Kit’s disappointment, she added: “Of course, if you don’t mind going, it would be dear of you to get it for her right away.” Kit ran off, racing down the street like a boy, and Mrs. Berkley went up to make sure, mother-fashion, that the carefully tended little patient was ready for a caller. “What’s up, Kit?” asked Helen as Kit assaulted the piazza where she sat. “I’m allowed to give little Anne the kitten,” Kit explained. “I came after it, told them it was your gift, Nell. Would you care to go with me?” he added as an afterthought, unwelcome, but due. “Yes, I would,” said Helen. “I won’t wear a hat, I’m ready.” Kit fetched the kitten in its basket; he found that Minerva had allowed it to entwine itself around her affections and was loath to let it go. Helen and Kit took longer to cover the ground than Kit would have consumed alone. He tried to keep in mind that the kitten was due to Helen and not to regret her coming. She did not bother him with much talk, and when they reached the Berkleys’ she refused to go upstairs. “No, indeed! I’ll stay here, happily, with a book and don’t you hurry! Get all the fun there is out of the child’s pleasure. I hope she will be pleased! I’m perfectly contented alone. Forget I’m here, but don’t forget to tell me just what the little girl does! It would be horrid in me to go up; she doesn’t know me,” Helen said with such friendliness that the Berkleys were charmed. Kit followed Mrs. Berkley and Joan up to little Anne’s room and stood in the doorway. Little Anne was fingering paper dollies but her lack of interest in them was evident. She raised her eyes, which looked immense and as dark as night in her thin white face. “Oh, Kit, my dear, dear, _dear_ Kit! You saved me, but I loved you hard before!” she cried. “Well, little Anne, I’m glad enough to see you to eat you up!” cried Kit, sincerely. He lifted her in his arms and she kissed him again and again.