"Glad to be back, aren't you?" Henry asked.
She hesitated, glanced at Kay. The sense of home and of security, for her and hers, was suddenly strong in her. He had been a good husband, had Henry; safe and sound. Not a figure of romance, certainly, like that cowboy of the ranch, but he had never given her any trouble. She moved toward him, shyly, like a girl.
"Yes," she said, and would have stooped down and kissed him. But he reached for the siphon at that moment, and she turned and went out of the room.
After a minute or two Kay followed her and went up to her bedroom. It had been her bedroom in the summer ever since she could remember, and the day nursery was just beyond it. Now however the day nursery was her boudoir, a gay little room with a small balcony. There used to be an extra rail on the balcony, because Mademoiselle was afraid she would climb the railing and fall.
Now Nora and a housemaid were there, and Nora was in a sad way.
"They've broke your mirror, Miss Kay," she wailed. "I told them not to put that dressing case under anything."
"Don't mind about that. We can have a new glass put in."
"But it's seven years' bad luck!"
Seven years! But what did it matter? Who could think ahead seven dreary empty years? They spread out before her, those years, filled with unimportant things. The telephone ringing, and some young voice at the other end:
"Hello, Kay! What's on for today?"
"Nothing much. I thought I'd ride this afternoon."
"How about some tennis? I'll get some extras in to tea."
"All right. Count me in."
Summer parties, centering around the club, winter parties, centering around the débutantes. Fluffy little girls, looking wide-eyed and more innocent than they were, standing before banks of flowers beside mothers elaborately coiffed and gowned.
"Well, well, Anne! And so you're out at last!" And
