“Dear Mrs. Clephane--a rhyme for _astrolabe_!” he entreated, with that half-humorous way he had of flinging the lasso of his own thought over anybody who happened to stray within range; and then, with one of his usual quick transitions: “I got a chance to run over to New York unexpectedly, and I heard you were in town, and went to see you. At your house they told me you might be here, so I came, and Miss Clephane was kind enough to let me wait.” “I was afraid you weren’t coming,” the girl added, looking gravely at her mother. In spite of the blood drumming in her head, and the way his airy fib about having heard she was in town had drawn her again into the old net of their complicities, Kate was steadied by his composure. She looked from him to Anne; and Anne’s face was also composed. “I had the luck,” Chris added, “to meet Miss Clephane after I was invalided home. She took pity on me when I was in hospital on Long Island, and I’ve wanted to thank her ever since. But my boss keeps me on a pretty short chain, and I can’t often get away.” “It’s wonderful,” said the girl, with her quiet smile, “how you’ve got over your lameness.” “Oh, well--” he had one of his easy gestures--“lameness isn’t the hardest thing in the world to get over. Especially not with the care I had.” Silence fell. Kate struggled to break it, feeling that she was expected to speak, to say something, anything; but there was an obstruction in her throat, as if her voice were a ghost vainly struggling to raise its own grave-stone. Their visitor made the automatic motion of consulting his wrist-watch. “Jove! I hadn’t an idea it was so late. I’ve got barely time to dash for my train!” He stood looking in his easy way from mother to daughter; then he turned once more to Kate. “Aren’t you coming over to see the great Maclew library one of these days? I was just telling Miss Clephane--” “Uncle Fred has always promised to take me,” the girl threw in. “Well, that settles it; doesn’t it, Mrs. Clephane?” This time he wavered a second before the “Mrs.”, and then carried it off triumphantly. “As soon as you can make a date, will you wire me? Good!” He was holding out his hand. Kate put hers in it; she did not mind. It was as if she had laid a stone in his palm. “It’s a go, then?” he repeated gaily, as he shook hands with Anne; and the door closed on him. “Major Fenno”--. Kate repeated the name slowly as she turned back toward the fire. She had never heard of his military rank. “Was he wounded?” she asked her daughter suddenly. “At Belleau Wood--didn’t you know? I thought you might have--he was mentioned in despatches. He has the Legion of Honour and the D.S.M.” Anne’s voice had an unwonted vibration. “But he never talks of all that; all he cares about is his writing,” she added.