Anne sat with her for the greater part of an hour, comforting her with a grave tenderness that Dot found infinitely soothing.  It might have been half a lifetime instead of a brief seven years that stretched between them.  For Anne had been a woman long before her time, and Dot for all her self-reliance was still but a child.

She grew calm at last, and presently reverted to the theatricals.  Did Lady Carfax think she might withdraw?  Nap made her so nervous.  She was sure she could never be successful under his management.

Anne strongly advised her not to think of such a thing.  In consideration of the fact that Dot had been the moving spirit of the whole scheme such a proceeding would be little short of disastrous.  No doubt a substitute could be found, but it would mean an open breach with Nap.  Bertie would quarrel with him in consequence, and Lucas would be grievously disappointed.

“We mustn’t hurt Lucas,” Anne urged.  “He has so much to bear already.  And—­and he has been so much happier about Nap lately.”

“Does Nap worry him too, then?” asked Dot, quickly.  “Isn’t he hateful?  He upsets everybody.”

“No—­no!” Anne said.  “Nap would do anything for Lucas.  It is his one solid virtue.”

It was at this point that the door opened with a noiseless swing, and Nap himself entered.  He advanced with the assured air of one whose welcome is secure.

“Give the devil his due, Lady Carfax!” he drawled.  “He has one other anyway.”

Even Anne was for the moment disconcerted by the abruptness of his entrance.  Dot sprang to her feet with burning cheeks.  It was her evident intention to escape, but he intercepted her.

“My business is with you,” he said, “not with Lady Carfax.  Do you mind waiting a minute?”

Dot waited, striving for dignity.  Nap was looking at her narrowly.

In the pause that ensued, Anne rose and passed her arm reassuringly through Dot’s.

Nap glanced at her.  “That’s rather shabby of you,” he declared.  “I was just going to ask for your support myself.”

She smiled at him faintly.  “I think you can manage without it.  Dot will not refuse her forgiveness if you ask for it properly.”

“Won’t she?” said Nap, still keenly watching the girl’s half-averted face.  “I should if I were Dot.  You see our feud is of very long standing.  We always cut each other when we meet in the street—­very pointedly so that no one could possibly imagine for a moment that we were strangers.  We don’t like doing it in the least, but we are both so infernally proud that there is no alternative.  And so we have got to keep it up all our days, long after the primary reason for it all has sunk into oblivion.  By the way, I have forgotten already what the primary reason was.”

“I—­haven’t,” said Dot, in a very low voice.  Her lower lip was quivering.  She bit it desperately.

“No?” said Nap.