Suddenly Anne drifted up, sat down an on arm of her mother’s chair, and took her mother’s hand. Kate’s eyes filled, and through their mist she fancied she saw Dr. Arklow looking at her attentively. For the first time it occurred to her that, behind the scrupulous social puppet, there might be a simple-hearted man, familiar with the humble realities of pain and perplexity, and experienced in dealing with them. The thought gave her a sense of relief, and she said to herself: “I will try to speak to him alone. I will go to see him when we get to New York.” But meanwhile she merely continued to smile up at her daughter, and Dr. Arklow to say: “Our young lady has been telling me about the big tennis finals. There’s no doubt all these sports are going to be a great factor in building up a healthier, happier world.” None of the three made any allusion to Anne’s engagement. XXII. “Miss Anne Clephane weds War Hero. Announces engagement to Major Christopher Fenno, D.S.M., Chevalier of Legion of Honour.” The headline glared at Kate Clephane from the first page of the paper she had absently picked up from the table of her sitting-room. She and Anne, that morning, had journeyed back from Long Island in Hendrik Drover’s motor, separated by his genial bulk, and shielded by it from the peril of private talk. On the day before--that aching endless Sunday--Anne, when with her mother, had steadily avoided the point at issue. She seemed too happy in their reunion to risk disturbing its first hours; perhaps, Kate thought, she was counting on the spell of that reunion to break down her mother’s opposition. But as they neared New York every mile brought them closer to the reality they were trying not to see; and here it was at last, deriding the mother from those hideous headlines. She heard Anne’s step behind her, and their glance crossed above the paragraph. A flush rose to the girl’s cheek, while her eyes hesitatingly questioned her mother. The decisive moment in their struggle was at hand. Kate felt that everything depended on her holding fast to the line she had resolved to follow, and her voice sounded thin and small in the effort to steady it. “Is Major Fenno in New York?” “No. He went back to Baltimore on Saturday.” Anne wavered. “He’s waiting to hear from me ... before he comes.” A hope leapt up in the mother’s breast, then sank its ineffectual wings. She glanced back slowly at the newspaper. “This announcement was made with your permission?” The unwonted colour still burned in the girl’s cheek. She made a motion of assent, and added, after another pause: “Uncle Hendrik and Aunt Enid thought it only fair.” “Fair to Major Fenno?” “Yes.” The silence prolonged itself. At length the mother brought out: “But if you’ve announced your engagement he has a right to be with you.” Anne looked at her almost timidly. “I wanted first ... we both wanted ... to feel that when he came you would ... would be ready to receive him.”