“Don’t think,” Nollie continued, her expression softening, “that Anne hasn’t tried to understand ... to make allowances. The boy you knew must have been so different from the Major Fenno we all like and respect--yes, respect. He’s ‘made good’, you see. It’s not only his war record, but everything since. He’s worked so hard--done so well at his various jobs--and Anne’s sure that if he had the chance he would make himself a name in the literary world. All that naturally makes it more difficult for her to understand your objection--or your way of asserting it.” Mrs. Clephane lifted imploring eyes to her face. “I don’t expect Anne to understand; not yet. But you must try to, Nollie; you must help me.” “I want to, Aunt Kate.” The young woman stood before her, affectionately perplexed. “If there’s anything ... anything really wrong ... you ought to tell me.” “I _do_ tell you,” Kate panted. “Well--what is it?” Silence fell--always the same silence. Kate glanced desperately about the imprisoning room. Every panel and moulding of its walls, every uncompromising angle or portly curve of its decorous furniture, seemed equally leagued against her, forbidding her, defying her, to speak. “Ask Fred Landers,” she said, at bay. “But I have; I saw him on my way here. And he says he doesn’t know--that you wouldn’t explain.” “Why should I have to explain? I’ve said Major Fenno ought not to marry Anne. I’ve known him longer than any of you. Isn’t it likely that I know him better?” The words came from her precipitate and shrill; she felt she was losing all control of her face and voice, and lifted her handkerchief to her lips to hide their twitching. “Aunt Kate--!” Nollie Tresselton gasped it out on a new note of terror; then she too fell silent, slowly turning her eyes away. In that instant Kate Clephane saw that she had guessed, or if not, was at least on the point of guessing; and fresh alarm possessed the mother. She tried to steady herself, to raise new defences against this new danger. “Some men are not meant to marry: they’re sure to make their wives unhappy. Isn’t that reason enough? It’s a question of character. In those ways, I don’t believe character ever changes. That’s all.” “That’s all.” The word was said. She had been challenged again, and had again shrunk away from the challenge. Nollie Tresselton drew a deep breath of relief. “After knowing him so well as a boy, you naturally don’t want to say anything more; but you think they’re unsuited to each other.” “Yes--that’s it. You do see?” The younger woman considered; then she took Mrs. Clephane by the hand. “I do see. And I’ll try to help--to persuade Anne to put off deciding. Perhaps after she’s seen him it will be easier....” Nollie was again silent, and Mrs. Clephane understood that, whatever happened, the secret of Chris’s exact whereabouts was to be kept from her. She thought: “Anne’s afraid to have me meet him again,” and there was a sort of fierce satisfaction in the thought.