some such way. It is luxury that ought to disturb Anne's conscience."
"And Anne's pictures? Her letters say nothing about them."
"Anne is a success, even financially. I am proud of her," said Howard, laying a biscuit on Helen's saucer.
Helen looked at him. The old hero-worship in her eyes was blended now with something else. He was handsomer than ever, she thought. The slight plumpness was becoming.
"Howard," she asked slowly, "have you ever been sorry that you came?"
He put down his cup, and faced her in astonishment.
"Sorry? Oh, my darling! My spirit has come home at last, to the only home that it has ever had."
She turned and faced him. Above the creamy laces of her dress her face rose like a brilliant flower.
"Do you ever wish that I were Anne?"
"No," he answered firmly. "Anne is Anne, and you are you."
