He went to the door to let her in. “Anna, take off your hat,” he bade her, his voice stern through repressed feeling. Obeying silently, Anna Miller stood before him with downcast eyes. She looked like a boy,--a handsome lad of perhaps a dozen years. Her long yellow hair had been shorn. Parted at one side, the thick, short unruly locks curled about her peaked face and pipe-stem neck, emphasizing the childish delicacy of her features, the long curling eyelashes and the sweet curve of her mouth. Later Mr. Langley realised this, and the fact that though Anna looked younger, she had somehow quite lost whatever it was in expression or countenance that likened her to a doll. He, who had never acknowledged that likeness while it existed, became aware of it after it had been displaced by something else. But at the moment the loss seemed irreparable and entire; the hard ugly fact seemed quite without extenuation. With an effort the girl raised her eyes and smiled. “I wonder if Mrs. Langley wants to see me?” she asked. “She always wants to see you, Anna,” he returned half absently, frowning unconsciously. But as she made a move to go in, he arrested her. “Why have you done this foolish thing, tell me, child!” he demanded reproachfully. “Because--well--” Anna choked--“Honestly, Mr. Langley, I _can’t_ tell you now,” she faltered. “Ma cried and Miss Penny and even Mrs. Lorraine, and Pa took to the wood-pile. It’s only--a sort of a joke.” “A poor sort of joke, it seems to me,” he remarked and betook himself to his study. Mrs. Langley cried, too. But whereas one would have deprecated Anna’s mother’s tears and Miss Penny’s, it was probably good for Mrs. Langley to forget herself for the moment and be really moved by something beyond her immediate narrow horizon. It was, perhaps, fortunate for her that after all those arid, selfish years she had tears of sympathy to weep. Anna found her looking better. Since the girl had begun to visit her, Mrs. Langley had slept at night and suffered less and less pain during the day. This afternoon she wore an old-fashioned lace fichu over her ugly Mother Hubbard gown which so relieved the sharpness of her face and the yellow tone of her skin, that Anna had no hesitation in kissing her when she saw that it was expected of her. But as she stood before her, suddenly Mrs. Langley raised both hands and cried out. “Anna Miller! Your lovely hair!” she exclaimed incredulously, “you’ve had it all cut off!” And covering her face with her hands she began to weep.