“Of course, dear.” Kate slipped an arm through hers, and they entered the shadowy welcoming room, lit by one veiled lamp and the faint red of the hearth. “After all, this is the best hour of the twenty-four for a talk,” the mother said, throwing herself back luxuriously on her lounge. It was delicious, after her fortnight of solitude, to think of talking things over with Anne. “And now tell me about everything,” she said. “Yes; I want to.” Anne stood leaning against the chimney-piece, her head on her lifted arm. “There’s so much to say, isn’t there? Always, I mean--now that you and I are together. You don’t know the difference it makes, coming home to you, instead--” She broke off, and crossing the hearth knelt down by her mother. Their hands met, and the girl leant her forehead against Kate’s shoulder. “I’ve been lonely too!” The confession sprang to Kate’s lips. Oh, if at last she might say it! But she dared not. The bond between her and her daughter was still too fragile; and how would such an avowal sound on her lips? It was better to let Anne guess-- Anne did guess. “You _have_ been happy here, haven’t you?” “Happy? Little Anne!” “And what a beautiful mother you are! Nollie was saying tonight that you’re younger looking every day. And nobody wears their clothes as you do. I knew from that old photograph that you were lovely; but I couldn’t guess that you hadn’t grown any older since it was taken.” Kate lay still, letting the warmth of the words and the embrace flow through her. What praise had ever seemed as sweet? All the past faded in the sunset radiance of the present. “Little Anne,” she sighed again. The three syllables summed it all up. Anne was silent for a moment; then she continued, her cheek still pressed against her mother: “I want you to stay here always, you know; I want the house to belong to you.” “The house--?” Kate sat up with a start. The girl’s shoulder slipped from hers and they remained looking at each other, the space between them abruptly widened. “This house--belong to me? Why, what in the world--” It was the first time such a question had arisen. On her arrival in America, when Landers, at Anne’s request, had tentatively broached the matter of financial arrangements, Kate had cut him short with the declaration that she would gladly accept her daughter’s hospitality, but preferred not to receive any money beyond the small allowance she had always had from the Clephane estate. After some argument Landers had understood the uselessness of insisting, and had doubtless made Anne understand it; for the girl had never spoken of the subject to her mother. Kate put out an encircling arm. “What in the world should I do with this house, dear? Besides--need we look so far ahead?”