She felt her tightened heart dilating. Baltimore wasn’t very far away; but it was far enough as long as he had anything to keep him there. She knew about Horace Maclew, an elderly wealthy bibliophile and philanthropist, with countless municipal and social interests in his own town, and a big country-place just outside it. No; Mr. Maclew’s private secretary was not likely to have many holidays. But how long would Chris resign himself to such drudgery? She wanted to be kind and say: “And your painting? Your writing?” but she didn’t dare. Besides, he had probably left both phases far behind him, and there was no need, really, for her to concern herself with his new hobbies, whatever they might be. Of course she knew that he and she would have to stand there staring at one another till she made a gesture of dismissal; but on what note was she to make it? The natural thing (since she felt so safe and easy with him) would have been to say: “The next time you’re in town you must be sure to look me up--”. But, with him, how could one be certain of not having such a suggestion taken literally? Now that he had seen she was not afraid of him he would probably not be afraid of _her_; if he wanted a good dinner, or an evening at the Opera, he’d be as likely as not to call her up and ask for it. And suddenly, as they hung there, she caught, over his shoulder, a glimpse of another figure just turning into the Park from the same direction; Anne, with her quick step, her intent inward air, as she always moved and looked when she had just left her easel. In another moment Anne would be upon them. Mrs. Clephane held out her hand: for a fraction of a second it lay in his. “Well, goodbye; I’m glad to know you’ve got a job that must be so interesting.” “Oh--interesting!” He dismissed it with a gesture. “But I’m glad to see you,” he added; “just to _see_ you,” with a clever shifting of the emphasis. He paused a moment, and then risked a smile. “You don’t look a day older, you know.” She threw her head back with an answering smile. “Why should I, when I feel years younger?” Thank heaven, an approaching group of people must have obstructed her daughter’s view! Mrs. Clephane hurried on, wanting to put as much distance as she could between herself and Chris’s retreating figure before she came up with her daughter. When she did, she plunged straight into the girl’s eyes, and saw that they were still turned on her inward vision. “Dearest,” she cried gaily, “I can see by your look that you’ve been doing a good day’s work.” Anne’s soul rose slowly to the surface, shining out between deep lashes. “How do you know, I wonder? I suppose you must have been a great deal with somebody who painted. For a long time afterward one carries the thing about with one wherever one goes.” She slipped her arm in Kate’s, and turned unresistingly as the latter guided her back toward Fifth Avenue.