"That depends on your definition," Anne replied dryly. "She decided to keep on with art, after a year's study, because her instructor showed her how really serious a thing art is!"
From these slight demands for human interest, Mrs. Kent turned with relief to her work. This was largely mechanical. She did her duty with precision, and went her way, sweet, sad, and remote. The harder the work, the more content she was. She liked to come home late in the afternoon, so tired that the old sense of physical and mental paralysis which had come to her when she first knew how great a grief was hers, returned and took possession. That feeling carried her back nearer and nearer to all that she had lost.
Her imagination slowly acquired a new power. Through the golden autumn air and the misty rain, scenes from her former life drifted back to her. In the long silences she said over and over the old words, those that she had listened to, those that she had spoken. She had
