not delay. So
Nancy, very white but smiling, had packed her off. Sulie had cried over
her, and Uncle Rod had wished her "Godspeed."

Richard met her at the station in the midst of a raging blizzard, and in
a sort of dream she had been whirled with him through the gray streets
shut in by the veil of the falling snow. They had stopped for tea at a
big hotel, which had seemed as they entered to swim in a sea of golden
light. And now here she was at last in this palace of a house!

Therese led her straight to Marie-Louise.

The Dresden-China Shepherdess in bed looked down the length of the
shadowed room to the door. The figure that stood on the threshold was
somehow different from what she had expected. Smaller. More girlish.
Lovelier.

Anne, making her way across a sea of polished floor, became aware of the
Shepherdess in bed.

"Oh," she said, "I am sorry you are ill."

"I am not ill," said Marie-Louise. "I didn't want you to come."

Anne smiled. "Oh, but if you knew how much I _wanted_ to come."

Marie-Louise sat up. "What made you want to come?"

"Because I am a country mouse, and I wanted to see the world."

"Rose Acres isn't the world."

"New York is. To me. There is so much that I haven't seen. It is going to
be a great adventure."

The Dresden-China Shepherdess fell down flat. "So that's what you've come
for," she said, dully, "adventures--here."

There was a long silence, out of which Anne asked, "How many miles is it
to my room?"

"Miles?"

"Yes. You see, I am not used to such great houses."

"It is down the hall in the west wing."

"If I get lost it will be my first adventure."

Marie-Louise turned and took a good look at this girl who made so much
out of nothing. Then she said, "Therese will show you. And you can dress
at once for dinner. I am not going down."

"Please do. I shall hate going alone."

"Why?"

"Well, there's your father, you know, and your--mother. And I'm a country
mouse."

Their eyes met. Marie-Louise had a sudden feeling that there was no gulf
between them of years or of authority.

"What shall I call you?" she asked. "I won't say Miss Warfield."

"Geoffrey Fox calls me Mistress Anne."

"Who is Geoffrey Fox?"

"He writes books, and he is going blind. He wrote 'Three Souls.'"

Marie-Louise stared. "Oh, do you know him? I loved his book."

"Would you like to know how he came to write it?"

"Yes. Tell me."

"Not now. I must go and dress."

Some instinct to