"Yes," he said, "they did look a lot alike, in a way, but even at that, the resemblance was only physical, and they showed more and more difference as they grew up. Their father died when they were about fifteen, and after that her mother had more difficulty than ever in controlling Rosamond. I saw a good deal of them at that time, and though she talked little about it, I could see that she was worried. Even at that age, Rosamond was careless, reckless, and extravagant. She always longed for finery, and when I brought books for little Anne, I always took a bit of ribbon or some such foolishness to Rosamond. It was wonderful to see what the child could do with the few things at her disposal. She had a sense of dress and adornment that was really remarkable." (Peter remembered that he had read, somewhere, that Mary Blake was the most skilfully costumed woman on the stage.) "Little Anne had it, too, in a different way. Her clothes were always quiet and pretty and suitable. Dress seemed to be a kind of instinct with both of the girls, but Rosamond's taste was almost--almost theatrical." Peter nodded to himself. "I suppose it was a desire for admiration," Lord went on, in his gentle, kindly voice, "that was the cause of--of the trouble that came to poor little Rosamond." Peter pricked up his ears. Was he to learn something at last? Something of the secret, perhaps, that Mary Blake thought no one would ever know--the reason that she---- "What trouble?" asked Peter, aloud, carefully restraining his eagerness. Walter Lord's chin was on his hand and his eyes were bent upon the two little pictures. He spoke slowly, sadly: "It didn't happen until after their mother passed away.... I could always thank God for that.... The girls were eighteen then, well grown, tall and graceful, and Rosamond most beautiful--magnificent--though I always thought that Anne----" Lord paused an instant and then caught up again the thread of his narrative. "Well--no one knew exactly how it happened. On the mountain, beyond that valley over there"--he pointed through the window, where a full, bright moon lit hill and vale with tender radiance--"on the far side of the mountain there had sprung up a summer colony of city people. We saw them, once in a while, riding through here on horseback--a gay lot of young people, rich and careless.... "How Rosamond met--the man--Anne never knew. She loved her sister passionately, devotedly, but Rosamond never confided in her. All Anne knew was that Rosamond went off for long walks by herself. She'd be gone all day, and come home, laughing and happy, with a brilliant colour in her face and her eyes alight.... And then, one day, she did not come back.... Anne watched, in sleepless agony, all through the night, and in the morning she came down to me....