"Well," said Murray, glancing at the tall thin man in the mirror, "of course she is young. But Maxwell Sears is coming here a lot. Is he in love with her?"
"I'm not sure. She amuses him. She isn't in love with him or with anybody."
"Not even with me?" Murray laughed a little. "But we can remedy that, can't we, Amy? But you might hint at what I'm expecting of her. I don't want to startle her." He came and sat down beside her. "You are always a great dear about doing things for me."
The pain stabbed her like a knife. "I'll do my best."
She had a nervous feeling that she must keep Murray from talking to her like that. She rang for hot water, and their one maid, Charlotte, brought it in a Sheffield jug. Then Ethel and Anne and Molly Winchell arrived, and once more Murray stood up, tall and self-conscious as he stole side glances at himself in the mirror.
Maxwell Sears had brought the three women home. He had a fashion of following up Anne's engagements and putting his car at her disposal. When Amy had vetoed any more adventures at the Capitol he had conceded good-naturedly that she was right. After that he had always included Amy or Ethel in his invitations.
"They are very pretty dragons," he had written to Winifred, "and little Anne is like a princess shut in a tower."
Winifred, reading the letter, had brooded upon it. "He's falling in love. A child like that--she'll spoil his future."
Congress was having night sessions. "If I could only have you up there," Maxwell had said to Anne as he had driven her home from the matinée, with old Molly and Ethel on the back seat. "I should steal you if I dared."
"Please dare."
"Do you mean it?"
"Yes. To-night. Ethel and Amy are going to a Colonial Dames meeting with Molly Winchell. I never go. I hate ancestors."
"I shouldn't let you do it," he hesitated, "but ghosts walk after dark in the Capitol corridors."
"I know," she nodded. "Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln."
"Yes. Then you'll come?"
"Of course."
It was the thought of her rendezvous with him that lighted her eyes when she talked to Murray. But Murray did not know. So he swayed up on his toes and glanced in the glass and was glad of his thinness and tallness.
Maxwell came for Anne promptly. "You must get me back by ten," she told him. "I have a key, and Charlotte's out."
It was a night of nights, never to be forgotten. Maxwell did not take Anne into the Gallery. He had not brought her there to hear speeches or to be conspicuous in the glare of lights. He led her through shadowy corridors--up wide dim stairways.
At one turn he touched her arm. "Look!" he whispered.
"What?"
"Lafayette passed us--on the stairs."
It was a great game! On the east front Columbus spoke to them of ships that sailed toward the sunset; in the Rotunda they kept a tryst with William Penn; from the west-front portico they saw a city beautiful--the streets under the moon were rivers of light--the great monument reached like the soul of Washington toward the stars!
Out there in the moonlight Maxwell spoke of another great soul, gone of late to join a glorious company.
"It was he who taught me that life is an adventure."
"Greatheart?"
"Yes."
"You loved him too?"
"Yes."
Anne caught her breath. "To think of him dead--to think of them all--dead."
Maxwell looked down at her. "They live somewhere. You believe that, don't you?"
"Yes."
He was silent for a moment; then he laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I feel to-night as if they pressed close."
Oh, it was a rare game to meet great souls in odd corners! They could scarcely tear themselves away. But he got her home before her sisters arrived, and Anne went to bed soberly, and lay long awake, thinking it out. She had never before had such a playmate. In all these years she had starved for other things than food.
IV
In due time Congress adjourned, but Maxwell did not go home. He continued to see Anne. Amy was at last driven to her duty by Murray. She could not forbid Maxwell the house. There was nothing to do but talk to Anne.
Having made up her mind she sought Anne's room at once. Anne, in a cheap cotton kimono, was braiding her hair for the night. The sleeves of the kimono were short and showed her thin white arms. Amy had on a blanket wrapper. Her hair was in metal curlers. She looked old and tired, and now and then she coughed.
Anne got into bed and drew the covers up to her chin. "I'm so cold, I believe there are icicles on my eyebrows. Amy, my idea of heaven is a place where it is as hot as--Hades."
"I don't see where you get such ideas. Ethel and I don't talk that way. We don't even think that way, Anne."
"Maybe when I am as old as you---" Anne began, and was startled at the look on Amy's face.
"I'm not old!" Amy said passionately. "Anne, I haven't lived at all, and I'm only thirty."
Anne stared at her. "Oh, my darling, I didn't mean---"
"Of course you didn't. And it was silly of me to say such a thing. Anne, I'm cold. I'm going to sit on the foot of your bed and wrap up while I talk to you."
Anne's bed had four pineapple posts and a pink canopy. The governor of a state had slept in that bed for years. He was one of the Merryman grandfathers. Amy could have bought mountains of food for the price of that bed. But she would have starved rather than sell it.
Anne under the pink canopy was like a rose--a white rose with a faint flush. The color in Amy's cheeks was fixed and hard. Yet even with her oldness and tiredness and metal curlers she had the look of race which attracted Murray.
"Anne," she said, "Murray and I had a long talk about you the other day."
"Murray always talks--long." Anne was yawning.
"Please be serious, Anne. He wants to marry you."
"Marry me!" incredulously. "I thought it was you; or Ethel."
"Well, it isn't," wearily. "And it's a great opportunity--for you, Anne."
"Opportunity for what?"
Amy had a sense of the futility of trying to explain.
"There aren't many men like him."
"Fortunately."
"Anne, how can you? He's really paying you a great compliment."
"Why didn't he ask me himself?"
"He didn't want to startle you. You're so young. Murray has extreme fineness of feeling."
Anne tilted her chin. "I don't see what he finds in me."
"You're young"--with a tinge of bitterness--"and he says you are beautiful."
Anne threw off the covers and set her bare feet on the floor. "Beautiful!" she scoffed, but went to the mirror. "I'm thin," she meditated, "but I've got nice hair."
"We all have nice hair," said Amy; "but you've got Ethel's complexion and my figure."
"I don't think I want to be loved for my complexion." Anne turned suddenly and faced her sister. "Or my figure. I'd rather be loved for my mind."
"Men don't love women for their minds," said Amy wearily. "You'll learn that when you have lived as long as I have. Get back into bed, Anne. You'll freeze."
But Anne, shivering in the cotton kimono, argued the question hotly: "I should think Murray would want to marry someone with congenial tastes. He hates everything that I like."
"He'll make an excellent husband. You ought to be happy to know that he--cares."
She began to cough--a racking cough that left her exhausted.
Anne, bending over her, said, "Why, Amy, are you sick?"
"I'm--I'm rather wretched, Anne."
"Are you taking anything for your cough?"
"Yes."
"You ought to have a doctor."
"I have had one."
"What did he say?"
Amy put her off. "I'll feel better in the morning, Anne. Don't worry." Again the cough tore her. Anne flew to Ethel.
"See what you can do for her. There is blood on her handkerchief! I am going to call a doctor."
The doctor, arriving, checked the cough. Later he told Anne that Amy must have a change and strengthening food.
"At once. She's in a very serious state. I've told her, but she won't listen."
In the days that followed Anne arraigned herself hotly. "I've been a selfish pig--eating up everything--and Amy needed it."
In this state of mind she fasted--and was famished.
Maxwell, noting her paleness, demanded, "What's the matter? Aren't you well?"
She wanted to cry out, "I'm hungry." But she, too, had her pride.
"Amy's ill."
He got it out of her finally. "The doctor is much worried about her. He says she needs a change."
"You need it too."
She needed food, but she couldn't tell him that. The state of their exchequer was alarming. It had been revealed to her since Amy's illness that there was really nothing coming in until the next quarter.
"Why didn't you let Charlotte go, Ethel?"
"We've always had a maid. What would people think?"
"And because of what people think, Amy is to starve?"
"Anne, how can you?"
"Well, it comes to that. She needs things; and we don't need Charlotte."
But when they spoke to Amy of sending Charlotte away she was feverishly excited. "There's nobody to do the work."
"I can do it," said Anne.
"We Merrymans have never worked," Amy began to cry. "I'd rather die," she said, "than have people think we are--poor."
V
Maxwell was a man of action. When he saw Anne pale he sought a remedy. "Look here, why can't you and your sisters come out to my farm?"
Anne, remembering certain things--broilers and fresh eggs--was thrilled by the invitation. "I'd love it! But Amy won't accept."