BEGGARS ON HORSEBACK
paradise of plenty; the big wide house, the spreading barns, the opulent garden, the rolling fields, the enchanting creatures who were sheltered by the barns and fed by the fields, and who in return gave payment of yellow cream and warm white eggs, and who lowed at night and cackled in the morning, and whose days were measured by the rising and the setting of the sun.
She loved it all—the purring pussies, the companionable pups, the steady, faithful older dogs, the lambs in the pasture, the good things to eat.
She was glowing with gratitude, and Maxwell was asking insistently, "Won't you, Anne?"
She had never been so happy, and he was the source of her happiness. Against this background of vivid life the thought of Murray was a pale memory.
So her wistful eyes met Maxwell's. "It would be lovely—to live here—always."
Later, when she had started up-stairs with her candle, he had kissed her, leaning over the rail to watch her as she went up, and Anne had gone to sleep tremulous with the thought that her future would lie here in this great house with this fine and kindly man.
Winifred, coming down at last, found that she had come too late. Maxwell told her as they motored up from the station.
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