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“Bring them in here, Stetson,” said Richard Latham, rising and passing his hand over the back of his head which he had been indulging in a pleasant friction against the back of his chair.

“Please, Miss Dallas, am I too badly rumpled? Miss Anne Berkley is a critical though dear friend of mine.”

“No, not badly rumpled,” returned Anne. Her cheeks were red and her eyes had brightened at the announcement of these visitors.

Stetson returned with them. Little Anne was freshly, beautifully groomed. She precipitated herself upon Richard Latham with a cry of joy, as if she had not been sure of finding him unchanged.

“I’ve not seen you in ages, and I certainly am glad I came!” she cried.

“Thank you, my dear; I echo your sentiments, with the added interest of five times your years,” said Richard, shaking her hand, earnestly.

“No, you don’t love people better because you’re the oldest, do you?” Little Anne corrected him. Then she remembered her duty.

“I brought my friend Kit—Mr. Christopher Carrington, to see you.” She turned, but Kit was talking to Anne Dallas and for an instant little Anne stared, recalling what she had forgotten.