“And so vital,” added Anselm. “I can’t imagine her old. But it would be hard to deny her the reward of the qualities which make us want to hold her fast; I imagine that, while she willingly lives and works, she will be glad to lay down this life when she is permitted to. No one whose appraisals are as accurate as hers can value life in itself. However, that’s beyond our authority. She is lonely, dear Miss Cis, and she had grown fond of you, dependent on your youth, your sense of humor, your mind, which in all its workings responds to hers.” “Oh, me!” cried Cis. “Why, I’m only twenty-three, for one thing, and I’m not clever, nor travelled, nor well-read, so--” “It isn’t nice to set up tenpins for me to bowl over,” Anselm teased her. “No one can safely drive and bowl at the same time. You know quite well that Miss Braithwaite was happy with you. You were a bright spot in her charming, but silent house. The proof of this is that she wants you back. She was going to write to you, but I’m her ambassador, as I told you this afternoon. She bids me beg of you to come back, back to stay, to make your home with her permanently, unless you find something else that calls to your true vocation as we both think you will. She bade me say that if it made you happier to resume your secretaryship, she was entirely willing, or for you to take up any other work, if you like to be occupied, feel independent. She says that this is not necessary; there would be no question of obligation to her, ‘she needs you too badly’--that is what she said--but she will not oppose you. ‘All that she asks is that she may see your bright head beside her hearth, know that you are coming home to her, as her daughter would come, at the close of every day.’ That is literally her message, Miss Cicely. I do not think that you can find it in your heart to say her no.” Cis did not speak for a few minutes. Anselm went on silently guiding the smooth motion of the car, guessing that she was as deeply moved as she actually was. At last Cis spoke, saying: “You must know how this makes me feel, Mr. Lancaster. She has been so good to me; she is so wonderful, and now this! And I am alone. I don’t suppose anybody, no matter how young and strong and jolly she may be, can help feeling alone when she is alone! It’s strange that Miss Braithwaite wants me now. I have been growing restless, unsatisfied; I don’t know what is wrong. I don’t enjoy being here. I love the baby and Nan, but--I’m ashamed, but Miss Braithwaite, and Father Morley and you, and even the big things in Mr. Lucas’ office, have all spoiled me for nice, steady, dull little days! I’m not better than Nan in brains; not nearly as good in the other sense, but, I’ve been fed on stronger food. Even her marriage--Joe is really a good boy; I do like him, but--Well, it isn’t what you’d think it would be; what _I’d_ think it would be, anyway! It’s just like bread and butter three times a day, every day in the year!”