she enjoyed thinking first of the comforts of others, and
secondly of herself. That in itself was most surprising to her. Up to a
year or two ago she would have deprived herself of nothing unless there
was some personal satisfaction to be had from the act, such as the
consciousness that the object of her kindness envied her the power to
give, or that she could pity herself for having been obliged to give
without return. Now she found joy in doing the things she once
abhorred,--the unnecessary things, as she had been pleased to describe
them.

She loved Lutie,--and that surprised her more than anything else. She did
not know it, but she was absorbing strength of purpose, independence, and
sincerity from this staunch little woman who was George's wife. She would
have cried out against the charge that Lutie had become an Influence! It
was all right for Lutie to have an influence on the character of George,
but--the thought of anything nearer home than that never entered her head.

As a peculiar--and not especially commendable--example of her present state
of unselfishness, she stopped for luncheon with her pretty little sister-
in-law, and either forgot or calmly ignored the fact that she had promised
Percy Wintermill and his sister to lunch with them at Sherry's. And later
on, when Percy complained over the telephone she apologised with perfect
humility,--surprising him even more than she surprised herself. She did
not, however, feel called upon to explain to him that she had transferred
his orchids to Lutie's living-room. That was another proof of her
consideration for others. She knew that Percy's feelings would have been
hurt.

Lutie was radiantly happy. Her baby was coming in a fortnight.

"You shall have the very best doctor in New York," said Anne, caressing
the fair, tousled head. Her own heart was full.

"We're going to have Braden Thorpe," said Lutie.

Anne started. "But he is not--What you want, Lutie, is a specialist. Braden
is--"

"He's good enough for me," said Lutie serenely. Possibly she was
astonished by the sudden, impulsive kiss that Anne bestowed upon her, and
the more fervent embrace that followed.

That afternoon Anne received many callers. Her home-coming meant a great
deal to the friends who had lost sight of her during the period of
preparation that began, quite naturally, with her marriage to Templeton
Thorpe, and was now to bear its results. She would take her place once
more in the set