They reached New York early in October. None of the family were in town; even Fred Landers, uninformed of the exact date of their return, was off shooting with Horace Maclew in South Carolina. Anne had wanted their arrival to pass unperceived; she told her mother that they would remain in town for a day or two, and then decide where to spend the rest of the autumn. On the steamer they languidly discussed alternatives; but, from the girl’s inability to decide, the mother guessed that she was waiting for something--probably a letter. “She’s written to him after all; she expects to find the answer when we arrive.” They reached the house and went upstairs to their respective apartments. Everything in Anne’s establishment was as discreetly ordered as in a club; each lady found her correspondence in her sitting-room, and Kate Clephane, while she glanced indifferently over her own letters, sat with an anguished heart wondering what message awaited Anne. They met at dinner, and she fancied the girl looked paler and more distant than usual. After dinner the two went to Kate’s sitting-room. Aline had already laid out some of the presents they had brought home: a Mexican turquoise ornament for Lilla, an exotic head-band of kingfishers’ feathers for Nollie, an old Spanish chronicle for Fred Landers. Mother and daughter turned them over with affected interest; then talk languished, and Anne rose and said goodnight. On the threshold she paused. “Mother, I was odious to you that night at Rio.” Kate started up with an impulsive gesture. “Oh, my darling, what does that matter? It was all forgotten long ago.” “I haven’t forgotten it. I’m more and more ashamed of what I said. But I was dreadfully unhappy....” “I know, dear, I know.” The girl still stood by the door, clutching the knob in an unconscious hand. “I wanted to tell you that now I’m cured--quite cured.” Her smile was heart-breaking. “I didn’t follow your advice; I wrote to him. I told him--I pretended--that you were going to accept my plan of giving you back the money, and that I should have only a moderate allowance, so that he needn’t feel any inequality ... any sense of obligation....” Kate listened with lowered head. “Perhaps you were right to write to him.” “Yes, I was right,” Anne answered with a faint touch of self-derision. “For now I know. It was not the money; he has told me so. I’ve had a letter.” “Ah--” “I’m dismissed,” said the girl with an abrupt laugh. “What do you mean, dear, when you say I was right?” “I mean that there was another woman.” Anne came close to her, with the same white vehement face as she had shown during their nocturnal talk at Rio. Kate’s heart stood still. “Another woman?” “Yes. And you made me feel that you’d always suspected it.” “No, dear ... really....” “You _didn’t_?” She saw the terrible flame of hope rekindling in Anne’s eyes.