began to look among his books。 So desultory was this
examination that some fifteen minutes failed to discover
the work they were in search of。
“Must you read Macaulay’s History； Cassandra？” Katharine
asked； with a stretch of her arms。
“I must；” Cassandra replied briefly。
“Well； I’m going to leave you to look for it by yourself。”
“Oh； no； Katharine。 Please stay and help me。 You see—
you see—I told William I’d read a little every day。 And I
want to tell him that I’ve begun when he es。”
“When does William e？” Katharine asked； turning
to the shelves again。
“To tea； if that suits you？”
“If it suits me to be out； I suppose you mean。”
“Oh； you’re horrid… 。 Why shouldn’t you—？”
“Yes ？”
“Why shouldn’t you be happy too？”
“I am quite happy；” Katharine replied。
“I mean as I am。 Katharine；” she said impulsively； “do
let’s be married on the same day。”
“To the same man？”
“Oh； no； no。 But why shouldn’t you marry—some one
else？”
“Here’s your Macaulay；” said Katharine； turning round with
the book in her hand。 “I should say you’d better begin to
read at once if you mean to be educated by teatime。”
“Damn Lord Macaulay！” cried Cassandra； slapping the
book upon the table。 “Would you rather not talk？”
“We’ve talked enough already；” Katharine replied evasively。
“I know I shan’t be able to settle to Macaulay；” said
Cassandra； looking ruefully at the dull red cover of the
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prescribed volume； which； however； possessed a talismanic
property； since William admired it。 He had advised a little
serious reading for the morning hours。
“Have you read Macaulay？” she asked。
“No。 William never tried to educate me。” As she spoke
she saw the light fade from Cassandra’s face； as if she
had implied some other； more mysterious； relationship。
She was stung with punction。 She marveled at her
own rashness in having influenced the life of another； as
she had influenced Cassandra’s life。
“We weren’t serious；” she said quickly。
“But I’m fearfully serious；” said Cassandra； with a little
shudder； and her look showed that she spoke the truth。
She turned and glanced at Katharine as she had never
glanced at her before。 There was fear in her glance； which
darted on her and then dropped guiltily。 Oh； Katharine
had everything—beauty； mind； character。 She could never
pete with Katharine； she could never be safe so long
as Katharine brooded over her； dominating her； disposing
of her。 She called her cold； unseeing； unscrupulous； but
the only sign she gave outwardly was a curious one—she
reached out her hand and grasped the volume of history。
At that moment the bell of the telephone rang and
Katharine went to answer it。 Cassandra； released from
observation； dropped her book and clenched her hands。
She suffered more fiery torture in those few minutes than
she had suffered in the whole of her life； she learnt more
of her capacities for feeling。 But when Katharine reappeared
she was calm； and had gained a look of dignity
that was new to her。
“Was that him？” she asked。
“It was Ralph Denham；” Katharine replied。
“I meant Ralph Denham。”
“Why did you mean Ralph Denham？ What has William
told you about Ralph Denham？” The accusation that
Katharine was calm； callous； and indifferent was not possible
in face of her present air of animation。 She gave
Cassandra no time to frame an answer。 “Now； when are
you and William going to be married？” she asked。
Cassandra made no reply for some moments。 It was；
indeed； a very difficult question to answer。 In conversation
the night before； William had indicated to Cassandra
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that； in his belief； Katharine was being engaged to
Ralph Denham in the diningroom。 Cassandra； in the rosy
light of her own circumstances； had been disposed to
think that the matter must be settled already。 But a letter
which she had received that morning from William；
while ardent in its expression of affection； had conveyed
to her obliquely that he would prefer the announcement
of their engagement to coincide with that of Katharine’s。
This document Cassandra now produced； and read aloud；
with considerable excisions and much hesitation。
“… a thousand pities—ahem—I fear we shall cause a
great deal of natural annoyance。 If； on the other hand；
what I have reason to think will happen； should happen—
within reasonable time； and the present position is
not in any way offensive to you； delay would； in my opinion；
serve all our interests better than a premature explanation；
which is bound to cause more surprise than is
desirable—”
“Very like William；” Katharine exclaimed； having gathered
the drift of these remarks with a speed that； by
itself； disconcerted Cassandra。
“I quite understand his feelings；” Cassandra replied。 “I
quite agree with them。 I think it would be much better； if
you intend to marry Mr。 Denham； that we should wait as
William says。”
“But； then； if I don’t marry him for months—or； perhaps；
not at all？”
Cassandra was silent。 The prospect appalled her。
Katharine had been telephoning to Ralph Denham； she
looked queer； too； she must be； or about to bee； engaged
to him。 But if Cassandra could have overheard the
conversation upon the telephone； she would not have
felt so certain that it tended in that direction。 It was to
this effect：
“I’m Ralph Denham speaking。 I’m in my right senses
now。”
“How long did you wait outside the house？”
“I went home and wrote you a letter。 I tore it up。”
“I shall tear up everything too。”
“I shall e。”
“Yes。 e today。”
“I must explain to you—”
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“Yes。 We must explain—”
A long pause followed。 Ralph began a sentence； which
he canceled with the word； “Nothing。” Suddenly； together；
at the same moment； they said goodbye。 And yet； if the
telephone had been miraculously connected with some
higher atmosphere pungent with the scent of thyme and
the savor of salt； Katharine could hardly have breathed
in a keener sense of exhilaration。 She ran downstairs on
the crest of it。 She was amazed to find herself already
mitted by William and Cassandra to marry the owner
of the halting voice she had just heard on the telephone。
The tendency of her spirit seemed to be in an altogether
different direction； and of a different nature。 She had
only to look at Cassandra to see what the love that results
in an engagement and marriage means。 She considered
for a moment； and then said： “If you don’t want to
tell people yourselves； I’ll do it for you。 I know William
has feelings about these matters that make it very difficult
for him to do anything。”
“Because he’s fearfully sensitive about other people’s
feelings；” said Cassandra。 “The idea that he could upset
Aunt Maggie or Uncle Trevor would make him ill for weeks。”
This interpretation of what she was used to call William’s
conventionality was new to Katharine。 And yet she felt it
now to be the true one。
“Yes； you’re right；” she said。
“And then he worships beauty。 He wants life to be beautiful
in every part of it。 Have you ever noticed how exquisitely
he finishes everything？ Look at the address on
that envelope。 Every letter is perfect。”
Whether this applied also to the sentiments expressed
in the letter； Katharine was not so sure； but when William’s
solicitude was spent upon Cassandra it not only failed to
irritate her； as it had done when she was the object of it；
but appeared； as Cassandra said； the fruit of his love of
beauty。
“Yes；” she said； “he loves beauty。”
“I hope we shall have a great many children；” said
Cassandra。 “He loves children。”
This remark made Katharine realize the depths of their
intimacy better than any other words could have done；
she was jealous for one moment； but the next she was
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humiliated。 She had known William for years； and she
had never once guessed that he loved children。 She looked
at the queer glow of exaltation in Cassandra’s eyes；
through which she was beholding the true spirit of a
human being； and wished that she would go on talking
about William for ever。 Cassandra was not unwilling to
gratify her。 She talked on。 The morning slipped away。
Katharine scarcely changed her position on the edge of
her father’s writingtable； and Cassandra never opened
the “History of England。”
And yet it must be confessed that there were vast lapses
in the attention which Katharine bestowed upon her
cousin。 The atmosphere was wonderfully congenial for
thoughts of her own。 She lost herself sometimes in such
deep reverie that Cassandra； pausing； could look at her
for moments unperceived。 What could Katharine be thinking
about； unless it were Ralph Denham？ She was satisfied；
by certain random replies； that Katharine had wandered
a little from the subject of William’s perfections。
But Katharine made no sign。 She