es. Anne instinctively
kept silent. It was Peggy who revealed their hiding place to him.

"Oh, Eric," she piped, "are you back?" She went flying down the stairs to
him.

He caught her, and holding her in his arms, peered up. "Who's there?"

Peggy answered. "It's Anne and the new doctor. I danced with him, and he
came on the train with those other people in there--and he has a dog
named Toby--it's in the kitchen."

"So that's his dog? It will have to go to the kennels for the night."

Richard, descending, apologized. "I shouldn't have let Toby stay in the
house, but Miss Bower put in a plea for him."

"Beulah?"

"He means Anne," Peggy explained. "Her name is Warfield. It's funny you
didn't know."

"How could I?" Richard had a feeling that he owed the little goddess-girl
an explanation of his stupidity. He found himself again ascending the
stairs.

But Anne had fled. Overwhelmingly she realized that Richard had believed
her to be the daughter of Peter Bower. Daughter of that crude and common
man! Sister of Beulah! Friend of Eric Brand!

Well, she had brought it on herself. She had looked after the dogs and
she had waited on the table. People thought differently of these things.
The ideals she had tried to teach her children were not the ideals of
the larger world. Labor did not dignify itself. The motto of kings was
meaningless! A princess serving was no longer a princess!

Sitting very tense and still in the little rocking-chair in her own room,
she decided that of course Richard looked down on her. He had perceived
in her no common ground of birth or of breeding. Yet her grandfather had
been the friend of the grandfather of Richard Brooks!

When Peggy came up, she announced that she was to sleep with Anne. It was
an arrangement often made when the house was full. To-night Anne welcomed
the cheery presence of the child. She sang her to sleep, and then sat for
a long time by the little round stove with Peggy in her arms.

She laid her down as a knock sounded on her door.

"Are you up?" some one asked, and she opened it, to find Evelyn Chesley.

"May I borrow a needle?" She showed a torn length of lace-trimmed
flounce. "I caught it on a rocker in my room. There shouldn't be any
rocker."

"Mrs. Bower loves them," Anne said, as she hunted through her little
basket; "she loves to rock and rock. All the women around here do."

"Then you're not one of them?"

"No. My grandmother was Cynthia Warfield of Car