She was glad that her husband was awake. The thin line of light still
showed beneath his door. It would be dreadful to be alone--in the dark.
At last she could stand it no longer. She got out of bed, wrapped
herself in a robe that lay at the foot of it, and opened the door.

"May I leave it open?"

As her husband turned in his chair, she saw his hand go quickly, as if
to cover the paper on which he was writing. "Of course, my dear. Are you
afraid?"

"I am always afraid, Ridgeley. Always--"

She put her hands up to her face and began to cry. He came swiftly
toward her and took her in his arms. "Hush," he said, "nothing can hurt
you, Anne."



VII


When she waked in the morning, it was with, the remembrance of his
tenderness. Well, of course he was sorry for her. Anybody would be. But
Christopher was sorry, too. And Christopher had something to offer
her--more than Ridgeley--yes, it was more--

She was half afraid to go down-stairs. Christopher would be at breakfast
on the porch. Jeanette would be there, pouring coffee, and perhaps
Ridgeley if he had no calls. And Christopher would talk in his gay young