“Things didn’t always go smoothly between her and her grandmother. The child has talents, you know; developed ’em early. She paints cleverly, and the old lady had her taught; but when she wanted a studio of her own there was a row--I was sent for. Mrs. Clephane had never heard of anybody in the family having a studio; that settled it. Well, Anne’s going to have one now. And so it was with everything. In the end Anne invariably gets what she wants. She knew of course that you and her grandmother were not the best of friends--my idea is that she tried to see you not long after her father died, and was told by the old lady that she must wait till she was of age. They neither of them told me so--but, well, it was in the air. And Anne waited. But now she’s doubly free--and you see the first use she’s made of her freedom.” He had recovered his ease, and sat down again, his hands on his knees, his trouser-hem rather too high above wrinkled socks and solemn square-toed boots. “I may say,” he added smiling, “that she cabled to you without consulting me--without consulting anybody. I heard about it only when she showed me your answer. That ought to tell you,” he concluded gaily, “as much as anything can, about Anne. Only take her for granted, as she will you, and you’ve got your happiest days ahead of you--see if you haven’t.” As he blinked at her with kindly brotherly eyes she saw in their ingenuous depths the terror of the man who has tried to buy off fate by one optimistic evasion after another, till it has become second nature to hand out his watch and pocket-book whenever reality waylays him. She exchanged one glance with that lurking fear; then she said: “Yes; you’re right, I suppose. But there’s not only Anne. What do other people know? I ought to be told.” His face clouded again, though not with irritation. He seemed to understand that the appeal was reasonable, and to want to help her, yet to feel that with every word she was making it more difficult. “What they know? Why ... why ... what they _had_ to ... merely that....” (“What you yourself forced on them,” his tone seemed to imply.) “That I went away....” He nodded. “With another man....” Reluctantly he brought the words out after her: “With another man.” “With Hylton Davies....” “Hylton Davies....” “And travelled with him--for nearly two years.” He frowned, but immediately fetched a sigh of relief. “Oh, well--abroad. And he’s dead.” He glanced at her cautiously, and then added: “He’s not a man that many people remember.” But she insisted: “After that....--”