For the first time she understood on what unknown foundations her fellowship with Anne was built. Were they solid? Would they hold? Was Anne’s feeling for her more than a sudden girlish enthusiasm for an agreeable older woman, the kind of sympathy based on things one can enumerate, and may change one’s mind about, rather than the blind warmth of habit? She stood musing while Anne moved about the studio, putting away the music, straightening a picture here and there. “And this is where you’re going to work--” Anne nodded joyously. “Lilla apparently expects you to turn it into a dance-hall for her benefit.” “Poor Lilla! She can’t see a new room without wanting to fox-trot in it. Life, for her, wherever she is, consists in going somewhere else in order to do exactly the same thing.” Kate was relieved: there was no mistaking the half-disdainful pity of the tone. “Well--don’t give her that latch-key!” she laughed, gathering up her furs. Anne echoed the laugh. “There are to be only two latch-keys--yours and mine,” she said; and mother and daughter went gaily down the steep stairs. * * * * * The days, after that, moved on with the undefinable reassurance of habit. Kate Clephane was beginning to feel herself part of an old-established routine. She had tried to organize her life in such a way that it should fit into Anne’s without awkward overlapping. Anne, nowadays, after her early canter, went daily to the studio and painted till lunch; sometimes, as the days lengthened, she went back for another two hours’ work in the afternoon. When the going was too bad for her morning ride she usually walked to the studio, and Kate sometimes walked with her, or went through the Park to meet her on her return. When she painted in the afternoon, Kate would occasionally drop in for tea, and they would return home together on foot in the dusk. But Mrs. Clephane was scrupulously careful not to intrude on her daughter’s working-hours; she held back, not with any tiresome display of discretion, but with the air of caring for her own independence too much not to respect Anne’s.