He raised his hat and walked on, somewhat unceremoniously, leaving the old lady to puzzle over his queer speech. Miss Carrington was met by Joan with Barbara clinging unsteadily to her skirt. “Thank you, Miss Carrington; Miss Dallas is well, rather tired. She is on the side piazza, in a steamer chair, having a beautiful time reading and resting. Will you go there? It is cooler to-day than the front piazza.” Anne looked frail and sweet as Joan led Miss Carrington toward her. Her face and gown were both colourless; her great dark eyes, her masses of satin-smooth dark hair contrasted sharply with their setting. “Oh, Miss Carrington!” Anne exclaimed, springing to her feet; she was no longer pale. “Dear little Miss Dallas, I hope that you are better?” said Miss Carrington in her cool voice, with its clear-cut, Italian-like articulation. “I am so extremely sorry about this disaster and for you, enmeshed in it, that I have come to tell you so. Besides, my dear, I want to know you better and I truly think it may be well for you to know me.” “I will not dispute the latter clause, Miss Carrington,” said Anne, pulling forward a chair and motioning Miss Carrington into her abandoned steamer chair. She smiled as she spoke, and Kit’s aunt admitted to herself the charm of Anne’s face and manner, the irresistible attraction of her voice. “You are kind to be so sympathetic to me. I am unhappy. I am horrified to know that I have given Mr. Latham pain.” “Surely, you would be. It is most unfortunate. Don’t you think that after a time, perhaps a long time, you will be able to convince him that there is no obstacle between you?” suggested Miss Carrington. Anne turned and looked at her intently. “Why, no, Miss Carrington,” she said after a brief pause.