“He’ll hate me for it--but I must,” she murmured. She raised herself on her elbow: “Fred--” The door opened softly to admit Anne, with the Airedale at her heels. They brought in a glow of winter air and the strange cold perfume of the dusk. “Uncle Fred? How jolly of you to have come! I was afraid I’d left mother alone too long,” the girl said, bending to her mother’s cheek. At the caress the blood flowed back into Kate’s heart. She looked up and her eyes drank in her daughter’s image. Anne hung above her for a moment, tall, black-cloaked, remote in the faint light; then she dropped on her knees beside the couch. “But you’re _tired_ ... you’re utterly done up and worn out!” she exclaimed, slipping an arm protectingly behind her mother. There was a note of reproach and indignation in her voice. “You must never be tired or worried about things any more; I won’t have it; we won’t any of us have it. Remember, I’m here to look after you now--and so is Uncle Fred,” she added gaily. “That’s what I tell her--nothing on earth to worry about _now_,” Mr. Landers corroborated, getting up from his chair and making for the door with muffled steps. “Nothing, nothing--ever again! You’ll promise me that, mother, won’t you?” Kate Clephane let her hand droop against the strong young shoulder. She felt herself sinking down into a very Bethesda-pool of forgetfulness and peace. From its depths she raised herself just far enough to say: “I promise.” IV. Anne, withdrawing from her mother’s embrace, had decreed, in a decisive tone: “And now I’m going to ring for Aline to tuck you up in bed. And presently your dinner will be brought; consommé and chicken and champagne. Is that what you’ll like?” “Exactly what I shall like. But why not share it with you downstairs?” But the girl had been firm, in a sweet yet almost obstinate way. “No, dearest--you’re really tired out. You don’t know it yet; but you will presently. I want you just to lie here, and enjoy the fire and the paper; and go to sleep as soon as you can.” Where did her fresh flexible voice get its note of finality? It was--yes, without doubt--an echo of old Mrs. Clephane’s way of saying: “We’ll consider that _settled_, I think.”