the sun shines.” Cassandra looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“Here’s Katharine talking about rats, and hay, and all sorts of odd things,” she said, as William returned to them. He had been quick. “Can you make her out?”
Katharine perceived from his little frown and hesitation that he did not find that particular problem to his taste at present. She stood upright at once and said in a different tone:
“I really am off, though. I wish you’d explain if they say anything, William. I shan’t be late, but I’ve got to see some one.”
“At this time of night?” Cassandra exclaimed.
“Whom have you got to see?” William demanded.
“A friend,” she remarked, half turning her head towards him. She knew that he wished her to stay, not, indeed, with them, but in their neighbourhood, in case of need.
“Katharine has a great many friends,” said William rather lamely, sitting down once more, as Katharine left the room.
She was soon driving quickly, as she had wished to drive, through the lamplit streets. She liked both light and speed, and the sense of being out of doors alone, and the knowledge that she would reach Mary in her high, lonely room at the end of the drive. She climbed the stone steps quickly, remarking the queer look of her blue silk skirt and blue shoes upon the stone, dusty with the boots of the day, under the light of an occasional jet of flickering gas.
The door was opened in a second by Mary herself, whose face showed not only surprise at the sight of her visitor, but some degree of embarrassment. She greeted her cordially, and, as there was no time for explanations, Katharine walked straight into the sitting-room, and found herself in the presence of a young man who was lying back
