watching the hard play of life there was a sense of escape.
Very often Anne went with her. Mrs. Kent marvelled at the artist's insight into the expression of inanimate things, her swift recognition of human feeling. It was Anne who pointed out a door-step, worn by many feet; a bit of New England garden, sunflower or hollyhock, among the swarming tenements; the curve of a woman's arm as she held her child.
They enjoyed the pleasure of confidential intercourse in a crowd. They talked of themselves, of their friends, in half-whispers, the sentences interrupted often by a long line of passers-by.
One day, threading their way among the old-clothes shops of Salutation Street, they spoke of Howard.
"I like him," said Mrs. Kent. "He has preserved such a freshness and sweetness through all the experiences of his student life."
"He is a nice boy," Anne responded cordially. "Only he's spoiled. You see,
