"My dear Nap, what does it matter?" broke in Dot. "Be quiet, Bertie! For
goodness' sake make him put the child down and have some tea."

"Let me take him," Anne said.

She stooped to lift the boy, who held out his arms to her with a crow of
pleasure. Nap looked up at her, and for an instant only their eyes met;
but in that instant understanding dawned upon Nap's face, and with it a
strangely tender smile that made it almost gentle.

Dot declared afterwards that the birthday-party had been all she could
have desired. Everyone had been nice to everyone, and the baby hadn't
been rude to his uncle, a calamity she had greatly feared. Also Nap was
improved, hugely improved. Didn't Bertie think so? He seemed to have got
so much more human. She couldn't realise there had ever been a time when
she had actually disliked him.

"P'r'aps we're more human ourselves," suggested Bertie; a notion which
hadn't occurred to Dot but which she admitted might have something in it.

Anyway, she was sure Nap had improved, and she longed to know if Anne
thought so too.

Anne's thoughts upon that subject, however, were known to none, perhaps
not even to herself. All she knew was an overwhelming desire for
solitude, but when this was hers at last it was not in the consideration
of this question that she spent it.

It was in kneeling by her open window with her face to the sky, and
in her heart a rapture of gladness that all the birds of June could
not utter.

She scarcely slept at all that night, yet when she rose some of the bloom
of youth had come back to her, some of its summer splendour was shining
in her eyes. Anne Carfax was more nearly a beautiful woman that day than
she had ever been before.

Dimsdale looked at her benignly. Would her ladyship breakfast
out-of-doors? She smiled and gave her assent, and while he was preparing
she plucked a spray of rose acacia and pinned it at her throat.

"Dimsdale," she said, and her cheeks flushed to the soft tint of the
blossom as she spoke, "Mr. Errol is coming over this morning. I expect
him to luncheon."

"Mr. Errol, my lady?"

"Mr. Nap Errol," said Anne, still intent upon the acacia. "Show him into
the garden when he comes. He is sure to find me somewhere."

Dimsdale's eyes opened very wide, but he managed his customary "Very
good, my lady," as he continued his preparations. And so Anne breakfasted
amid the tumult of rejoicing June, all the world laughing around her, all
the world