An old black dog was sitting by her, his nose resting on his lap, his big doggish eyes full of mute, imploring sympathy and devotion.

Anne drew back in dismay.

She felt that she could not intermeddle with this bitterness.
Her heart ached with a sympathy she might not utter.

To go in now would be to shut the door forever on any possible help or friendship.
Some instinct warned Anne that the proud, bitter girl would never forgive the one who thus surprised her in her abandonment of despair.
Anne slipped noiselessly from the veranda and found her way across the yard.

Beyond, she heard voices in the gloom and saw the dim glow of a light.