. Perhaps
it is the youth in you. I wanted to go, too. But oh, my dear, how I
wanted to come back!"

There was silence between them, then Anne said, "Perhaps if I could have
my one little fling I'd be content. Perhaps it wouldn't be all that I
expected. But I'd like to try."

On Thursday Anne met the postman as he drove up. There were two parcels
for her. One was square and one was long and narrow. There were parcels
also for Nancy and Sulie. Anne delivered them, and took her own treasures
to her room. She shut and locked her door. Then she stood very still in
the middle of the room. Not since she had seen the writing on the long
and narrow parcel had her heart ceased to beat madly.

When at last she sat down and untied the string a faint fragrance
assailed her nostrils. Then the gay box with its purple and green and
gold was revealed!

The little fan was folded about with many thicknesses of soft paper. But
at last she had it out, the dear lovely thing that her love had sent!

In that moment all the barriers which she had built about her thoughts of
Richard were beaten down and battered by his remembrance of her. There
was not a line from him, not a word. Nothing but the writing on the
wrapper, and the memory of their talk together by the big fire at Bower's
on the night of Beulah's party when he had said, "You ought to have a
little fan--of--sandalwood--with purple and green tassels and smelling
sweet."

When she went down her cheeks were red with color. "How pretty you are!"
Sulie said, and kissed her.

Anne showed the book which had come in the square parcel. It was Geoffrey
Fox's "Three Souls," and it was dedicated to Anne.

She did not show the sandalwood fan. It was hidden in her desk. She had a
feeling that Nancy and Sulie would not understand, and that Richard had
not meant that she should show it.

Nancy, too, had something which she did not show. One of her letters was
from Dr. Austin. He had written without Richard's knowledge. He wished to
inquire about Anne Warfield. He had been much impressed by what Richard
had said of her. He needed a companion for his daughter Marie-Louise. He
wanted a lady, and Cynthia Warfield's grandchild would, of course, be
that. He wanted, too, some one who was fearless, and who thought
straight. He fancied that from what Richard had said that Anne would be
the antidote for his daughter's abnormality. If Nancy would confirm
Richard's opinion, he would write at once to