Severn dressed hastily and went into the schoolroom where Anne sat reading in her solitary hour between supper time and bed-time.  He took her on his knee, and she snuggled there, rubbing her head against his shoulder.  He thought of Adeline, teasing, teasing for the child’s caresses, and every time repulsed.

“Anne,” he said, “don’t you think you can love Auntie Adeline?”

Anne straightened herself.  She looked at him with candid eyes.  “I don’t know, Daddy, really, if I can.”

“Can’t you love her a little?”

“I—­I would, if she wouldn’t try—­”

“Try?”

“To do like Mummy did.”

Robert was right.  He knew it, but he wanted to be sure.

Anne went on.  “It’s no use, you see, her trying.  It only makes me think of Mummy more.”

“Don’t you want to think of her?”

“Yes.  But I want to think by myself, and Auntie Adeline keeps on getting in the way.”

“Still, she’s awfully kind to you, isn’t she?”

“Awfully.”

“And you mustn’t hurt her feelings.”

“Have I?  I didn’t mean to.”

“You wouldn’t if you loved her.”

“You haven’t ever hurt her feelings, have you, Daddy?”

“No.”

“Well, you see, it’s because I keep on thinking about Mummy.  I want her back—­I want her so awfully.”

“I know, Anne, I know.”

Anne’s mind burrowed under, turning on its tracks, coming out suddenly.

“Do you love Auntie Adeline, Daddy?”

It was terrible, but he owned that he had brought it on himself.

“I can’t say.  I’ve known her such a long time; before you were born.”

“Before you married Mummy!”

“Yes.”

“Well, won’t it do if I love Uncle Robert and Eliot and Colin?  And Jerrold?”

That night he said to Adeline, “I know who’ll take my place when I’m gone.”

“Who?  Robert?”

“No, Jerrold.”

In another week he had sailed for India and Ambala.

* * * * *

viii

Jerrold was brave.

When Colin upset the schoolroom lamp Jerrold wrapped it in the tablecloth and threw it out of the window just in time.  He put the chain on Billy, the sheep-dog, when he went mad and snapped at everybody.  It seemed odd that Jerrold should be frightened.

A minute ago he had been happy, rolling over and over on the grass, shouting with laughter while Sandy, the Aberdeen, jumped on him, growling his merry puppy’s growl and biting the balled fists that pushed him off.

They were all out on the lawn.  Anne waited for Jerry to get up and take her into Wyck, to buy chocolates.

Every time Jerrold laughed his mother laughed too, a throaty, girlish giggle.

“I love Jerry’s laugh,” she said.  “It’s the nicest noise he makes.”

Then, suddenly, she stopped it.  She stopped it with a word.