I was always the prey of a tragic memory bravely hidden beneath external smiles.  That’s the worst . . . or the best . . . of real life, Anne.  It won’t let you be miserable.  It keeps on trying to make you comfortable . . . and succeeding...even when you’re determined to be unhappy and romantic.  Isn’t this candy scrumptious?  I’ve eaten far more than is good for me already but I’m going to keep recklessly on.”

After a little silence Miss Lavendar said abruptly,

“It gave me a shock to hear about Stephen’s son that first day you were here, Anne.  I’ve never been able to mention him to you since, but I’ve wanted to know all about him.  What sort of a boy is he?”

“He is the dearest, sweetest child I ever knew, Miss Lavendar . . . and he pretends things too, just as you and I do.”

“I’d like to see him,” said Miss Lavendar softly, as if talking to herself.  “I wonder if he looks anything like the little dream-boy who lives here with me . . .  My little dream-boy.”

“If you would like to see Paul I’ll bring him through with me sometime,” said Anne.

“I would like it . . . but not too soon.  I want to get used to the thought.  There might be more pain than pleasure in it . . . if he looked too much like Stephen . . . or if he didn’t look enough like him.  In a month’s time you may bring him.”

Accordingly, a month later Anne and Paul walked through the woods to the stone house, and met Miss Lavendar in the lane.  She had not been expecting them just then and she turned very pale.

“So this is Stephen’s boy,” she said in a low tone, taking Paul’s hand and looking at him as he stood, beautiful and boyish, in his smart little fur coat and cap.  “He . . . he is very like his father.”

“Everybody says I’m a chip off the old block,” remarked Paul, quite at his ease.

Anne, who had been watching the little scene, drew a relieved breath.  She saw that Miss Lavendar and Paul had “taken” to each other, and that there would be no constraint or stiffness.  Miss Lavendar was a very sensible person, in spite of her dreams and romance, and after that first little betrayal she tucked her feelings out of sight and entertained Paul as brightly and naturally as if he were anybody’s son who had come to see her.  They all had a jolly afternoon together and such a feast of fat things by way of supper as would have made old Mrs. Irving hold up her hands in horror, believing that Paul’s digestion would be ruined for ever.

“Come again, laddie,” said Miss Lavendar, shaking hands with him at parting.

“You may kiss me if you like,” said Paul gravely.

Miss Lavendar stooped and kissed him.

“How did you know I wanted to?” she whispered.

“Because you looked at me just as my little mother used to do when she wanted to kiss me.  As a rule, I don’t like to be kissed.  Boys don’t.  You know, Miss Lewis.  But I think I rather like to have you kiss me.  And of course I’ll come to see you again.  I think I’d like to have you for a particular friend of mine, if you don’t object.”