“Not hard to guess,” said Peter, and slammed the door before his mother could ask what his guess was and he should have to confess to having in mind nowhere that she had not already interrogated. Once out of sight his nonchalance fell from him like the mask that it was. He pulled his cap down over his forehead and set out on a run. He made speed to find Anne Dallas, feeling that in some unforeseen way she could help him. “Gee, if only I had kissed the kid!” he thought, nameless forebodings gripping him. Anne Dallas knew nothing of little Anne; Mrs. Berkley had already called her to ask, she told Peter. He thought that she looked ill and her eyes were swollen; there was reason for his own fright, then, if Miss Dallas was worried to this extent over Anne. “Oh, I knew Mother’d call you up,” Peter said, shifting from foot to foot as he stood. “But I sort of thought if you didn’t know where she was maybe you’d come home with me, talk to Mother till Father gets there--though Anne must come before he does!” he interrupted himself hastily. “Joan couldn’t come at this time very well--baby goes to bed, and Antony gets in early--and Mother’s kind of worried. Women do worry a whole lot over their children.” Peter gave Anne the benefit of his unique experience. “I’ll go this minute,” said Anne. “My hat is right here.” “You see Anne was feeling down in the mouth on account of something she’d done to me,” Peter said as they walked along, unable to restrain this confidence. “She took your thesis. Yes, but she went home to tell you and beg for forgiveness, so that’s all right now. Isn’t it?” Anne cried, frightened by Peter’s expression. Then, as he did not answer, she understood. “Oh, dear! And she is such an emotional child! Oh, poor Peter! But of course no harm can have befallen her,” Anne said, laying her hand on Peter’s arm. Mrs. Berkley welcomed Anne without many words. She clasped her hand, and said: “Thank you, dear!” Peter went past them up to his room again. It was getting late. After lunch that day Kit Carrington had found his home and its inmates beyond his power to endure. He was seized with an attack of nerves, made evident by his restlessness of body and complete repose of tongue. In vain had Miss Carrington tried to involve him in plans of her own. Equally in vain had Helen offered suggestions that were practically requests to Kit to do one of several things which would have sufficiently amused her. Kit had one of his most obtuse fits; he met both his aunt and Helen with polite obstinacy and mental deafness. It ended in his going off to his room and getting himself into his fishing clothes, taking his rod, and starting off to fish the river for a long afternoon of his own unshared companionship.