Anne straightened herself, her eyes widened with a startled look. She opened her lips to speak, but closed them mutely. Miss Carrington implied everything that she longed to deny, yet left her no opening for denial. “You are far too kind, Miss Carrington,” Anne said after a moment. “Mr. Latham should not be pitied; he is indeed highly endowed. But as to my help, it is only eyes and hands at his service and these are common possessions.” “Not stupid, makes no mistakes,” thought Miss Carrington, appraisingly, as she glanced at Anne. “Decidedly I must get Kit away.” Aloud she said: “I was surprised and pleased to find my boy with Mr. Latham. I offered to take Kit to see our poet only the other day. It was satisfactory to find him already with him, even on friendly terms. He is a nice boy; it is not my partiality that says it.” “He is an uncommonly nice boy,” assented Anne so readily that her frankness left Miss Carrington uncertain whether it were indifference, or the most effectual disguise. “He did not introduce himself to Mr. Latham; little Anne Berkley brought him. Isn’t she a marvellous sprite? I never knew a child like her.” “She is the other Cleavedge celebrity,” smiled Miss Carrington. “I hope we shall not spoil her. Kit is not a brilliant boy, but he has a good mind, and a still better heart.” “Which is a better thing to have,” said Anne. “I don’t know him well enough to pronounce, but I should think they were equal in him. Mr. Carrington seems to me one of the rare people who are sane, normal, clever, and kind. He was really beautiful toward Mr. Latham to-day--showed him exactly the right deference combined with frank friendliness. He is just what Mr. Latham likes and needs.” “Enthusiastic praise, my dear, but Kit deserves it, if you can trust the judgment of one who is to all intents and purposes his mother. I not only dote on him, but I mean to make him a man who will be felt in the world. I expect him to marry a brilliant girl whom he has known for years, who will push his fortunes. I think one of these fine days we shall all be proud of Christopher Carrington.” Anne looked at her steadily, surprise in her brown eyes. She wondered why this should be told her. She had not known Kit long, but when she saw him the air around her was charged with a feeling that she had avoided analyzing, not admitting to herself that it was there. But now the sense of something that surrounded Kit arose in her memory and insisted on its association with Miss Carrington’s confidence. “Proud of him by and by?” Anne said. Her colour had deepened, but her eyes were as frank as girls’ eyes can be while they think what must be hidden. “Aren’t you proud of your nephew now, Miss Carrington? I’m sure you are, and that you should be.”