forgotten nothing. Even in the street her feet beat time to the familiar phrases. Playing both parts in this dialogue of memory, she came to feel that both voices were one, and she forgot to regret the few bitter words that had broken the happiness of those years.
Grief turned often into rebellion. Once a glimpse of Anne Bradford and Miss Wistar walking together under the falling leaves brought hot tears to Mrs. Kent's eyes. It was like looking from the end of life down a long vista, into the hope and freshness of life's beginning. For her life was over, yet she was still so young.
"Please, will you come to the studio for a Bohemian supper?" Anne Bradford begged one day. "And will you play chaperon?"
"Chaperon?"
"For Miss Wistar. An old playmate of mine has turned out to be her art-teacher. I wish to invite him to meet her."
Mrs. Kent consented with reluctance.
