Anne’s brows drew together a little over the note.  She had always liked Mrs. Damer, but her taste for dinner-parties was a minus quantity.  Yet she knew that the invitation had been sent in sheer kindness.  Mrs. Damer was always kind to everyone, and it was not the fashion among her circle of friends to disappoint her.

Anne considered the matter, contemplated an excuse, finally rejected it, and wrote an acceptance.

She wore the dress of shimmering green in which she had appeared at the Hunt Ball.  Vividly the memory of that night swept across her.  She had not worn it since, and scarcely knew what impulse moved her to don it now.  It well became her stately figure.  Dimsdale, awaiting her departure at the hall-door, looked at her with the admiring reverence he might have bestowed upon a queen.

Again, during her drive through the dark, the memory of that winter night flashed back upon her.  She recalled that smooth, noiseless journey in which she had seemed to be borne upon wings.  She recalled her misery and her weariness, her dream and her awakening.  Nap had been very good to her that night.  He had won her confidence, her gratitude, her friendship.  His reputation notwithstanding, she had trusted him fully, and she had not found him wanting.  A faint sigh rose to her lips.  She was beginning to miss this friend of hers.

But the next moment she had drawn back sharply and swiftly, as if she had encountered an angel with a flaming sword.  This was the path down which she would not wander.  Why should she wish to do so?  There were so many other paths open to her now.

When she stepped at length from the carriage her face was serene and quiet as the soft spring night behind her.

Upstairs she encountered the doctor’s wife patting her hair before a mirror.  She turned at Anne’s entrance.

“Why, Lady Carfax!  This is indeed a pleasure.  I am so glad to see you here.”

There was genuine pleasure in her voice, and Anne remembered with a smile that Mrs. Randal liked her.

They chatted as she removed her wraps, and finally descended together, Mrs. Randal turning at the head of the stairs to whisper:  “There’s that horrid old gossip, Major Shirley.  I know he will fall to my lot.  He always does.  How shall I direct the conversation into safe channels?”

Anne could only shake her head.  She knew that Mrs. Randal was not celebrated for discretion.

Entering the drawing-room, they found Major Shirley with his wife and daughter, Ralph and Dot Waring, and the doctor, assembled with their host and hostess.

Mrs. Damer glanced at the clock after greeting them.  “The Errols are late.”

Anne chanced to be speaking to Dot at the moment, and the girl’s magic change of countenance called her attention to the words.  She wondered if her own face changed, and became uneasily aware of a sudden quickening of the heart.  Quietly she passed on to speak to the Shirleys.  The major looked her up and down briefly and offensively as his manner was, and she escaped from his vicinity as speedily as possible.  His wife, a powdered, elderly lady, sought to detain her, but after a few moments Anne very gently detached herself, accepting the seat which young Ralph Waring eagerly offered her.