Her illness had troubled him, but not greatly. Things had always come to him as he had wanted them, and he was quite sure that if Anne was to be the flame to light his future, Providence would permit Amy to be, as it were, the keeper of the light. He felt it necessary to warn Anne: "Don't fall in love with Sears." "Don't be silly, Murray." "Is it silly to say that I love you, Anne?" They were alone in the old library, with its books and bronzes and bag-wigged ancestors. And Murray sat down beside Anne and took her hand in his and said, "I love you, Anne." It was a proposal which was not to be treated lightly. In spite of herself, Anne was flattered. Murray had always loomed on her horizon as something of a bore but none the less a person of importance. She caught her breath quickly. "Please, Murray"--her blushes were bewitching--"I'm too young to think about such things. And I'm not in love with anybody." Murray raised her hand to his lips. "Keep yourself for me, little Anne." He rose and stood looking down at her. "You're a very charming child," he said. "Do you know it?" Anne, gazing at herself in the glass later, wondered if it were true. It was nice of Murray to say it. But she was not in the least in love with Murray. He was too old. And Maxwell was too old. Anne's dreams of romance had to do with glorified youth. She wanted a young Romeo shouting his passion to the stars! She packed her bag, however, in high anticipation. Maxwell was a splendid playmate, and she thought of his farm as flowing with milk and honey! Maxwell wrote to Winifred that he was coming home and bringing guests. "Run down and meet them. Anne's a corking kid." Winifred knew what had happened. Some girl had got hold of Maxwell. It was always the way with men like that--big men; they were credulous creatures where women were concerned, and it would make such a difference to Maxwell's future if he married the wrong woman. She decided to go down as soon as she could. She felt that she ought to hurry, but there were things that held her. And so it happened that before she reached the farm Maxwell had asked Anne to marry him. There had been a cool evening when the scent of lilacs had washed in great waves through the open windows. Amy had gone to bed and he and Anne had dined alone with the flare of candles between them, and the rest of the room in pleasant shadow. And then their coffee had been served, and Aunt Mittie, his housekeeper, had asked if there was anything else, and had withdrawn, and he had risen and had walked round to Anne's place and had laid his hands on her shoulders. "Little Anne," he had said, "I should like to see you here always." "Here?" "As my wife." "Oh!"