"Anne!"

"Oh, we're beggars on horseback"--bitterly--"and I hate it."

It was her moment of rebellion against the tyranny of tradition. Amy had
had such a moment years ago when her mother had taken her away from
school. Amy had a brilliant mind, and she had loved study, but her
mother had brought her to see that there was no money for college.
"You'd better have a year or two in society, Amy. And this craze for
higher education is rather middle-class."

Ethel's rebellion had come when she had wanted to marry a round-faced
chap who lived across the street. They had played together from
childhood. His people were pleasant folks but lacked social background.
So Ethel's romance had been nipped in the bud. The round-faced chap had
married another girl. And now Amy at thirty and Ethel at twenty-five
were crystallizing into something rather hard and brilliant, as Anne
would perhaps crystallize if something didn't happen.

The something which happened was Maxwell Sears. Anne listened to the
things he said about his farm and felt that they couldn't be true.

"It sounds like a fairy tale."

"It isn't. And it's all tremendously interesting."

He looked very much alive as he said it, and Anne felt the thrill of his
energy and enthusiasm. Murray was never enthusiastic; neither were Amy
and Ethel. They were all indeed a bit petrified.

Before he left her Maxwell asked Anne if he could call. He came promptly
two nights later and brought with him a bunch of violets and a box of
chocolates. Anne pinned the violets in the front of the gray frock that
gave her the look of a cloistered nun, and ate up the chocolates.

Amy was shocked. "Anne, you positively gobbled--"

"I didn't."

"Well, you ate a pound at least."

Anne protested. Maxwell had eaten a lot, and Ethel and Amy had eaten a
few, and Murray had come in.

"You remember, Amy, Murray came in."

"He didn't touch one, Anne. He never eats chocolates."

"He's afraid of getting fat."

"Anne!"

"He is. When he takes me out to lunch he thinks of himself, not of me.
The last time we had grapefruit and broiled mushrooms and lettuce; and I
wanted chops."

Maxwell had been glad to see Anne eat the chocolates. She had seemed as
happy as a child, and he had liked that. There was nothing childish
about Winifred. She had been always grown-up and competent and helpful.
He felt that he owed Winifred a great deal. They were not engaged, but
he rather hoped that some day they mi