as a selfish pig. That I couldn't expect to keep you always to
myself. But you see I have kept you, Dicky. I have always thought that
you and I could go on being--friends, with no one to break in on it."

Her eyes as she raised them to his were shadowed. He spoke heartily. "My
dear girl, as if anything could ever come between us." He rose and drew
her up from her lowly seat. "I'm glad we talked it out. I confess I was
feeling pretty sore over the way you acted, Eve. It wasn't like you."

Eve stuck to her resolution to go to Bower's to seek out and conciliate
Anne, and thus it happened that they found her making a Madonna of
herself with Peggy in her arms, and Geoffrey Fox's eyes adoring her.

Little Francois told his mother later that at first he had thought the
lovely lady was a fairy princess; for Eve was quite sumptuous in her
dinner gown of white and shining satin, with a fur-trimmed wrap of white
and silver. She wore, also, a princess air of graciousness, quite
different from the half appealing impertinence of her morning mood when
she had knelt at Richard's feet.

Anne, appeased and fascinated by the warmth of Eve's manner, found
herself drawn in spite of herself to the charming creature who discussed
so frankly her plans for their pleasure.

"Dicky and I were born on the same day," she explained, "and we always
have a party together, with two cakes with candles, and this year it is
to be at Crossroads."

She invited Brinsley and Geoffrey on the spot, and promised the children
a peep into fairy-land. Then having settled the matter to the
satisfaction of all concerned, she demanded a fresh popper of corn,
insisted on a repetition of Brinsley's fish story, asked about Geoffrey's
book, and went away leaving behind her a trail of laughter and
light-heartedness.

Later Anne was aware that she had left also a feeling of bewilderment. It
seemed incredible that the distance between the mood of last night and of
to-night should have been bridged so successfully.

Brushing her hair in front of the mirror, she asked herself, "How much of
it was real friendliness?" Uncle Rod had a proverb, "'_A false friend has
honey in his mouth, gall in his heart._'"

She chided herself for her mistrust. One must not inquire too much into
motives.

The sight of Richard's bit of pine in the mirror frame shed a gleam of
naturalness across the strangeness of the hour just spent. It seemed to
say, "You and I of the country----"

Ev