yet she hesitated. As usual, when she found herself in talk with
Katharine, she began to feel rapid alternations of opinion about
her, arrows of sensation striking strangely through the envelope of
personality, which shelters us so conveniently from our fellows. What
an egoist, how aloof she was! And yet, not in her words, perhaps, but
in her voice, in her face, in her attitude, there were signs of a soft
brooding spirit, of a sensibility unblunted and profound, playing
over her thoughts and deeds, and investing her manner with an habitual
gentleness. The arguments and phrases of Mr. Clacton fell flat against
such armor.

"You'll be married, and you'll have other things to think of," she said
inconsequently, and with an accent of condescension. She was not going
to make Katharine understand in a second, as she would, all she herself
had learnt at the cost of such pain. No. Katharine was to be happy;
Katharine was to be ignorant; Mary was to keep this knowledge of the
impersonal life for herself. The thought of her morning's renunciation
stung her conscience, and she tried to expand once more into that
impersonal condition which was so lofty and so painless. She must check
this desire to be an individual again, whose wishes were in conflict
with those of other people. She repented of her bitterness.

Katharine now renewed her signs of leave-taking; she had drawn on one of
her gloves, and looked about her as if in search of some trivial saying
to end with. Wasn't there some picture, or clock, or chest of drawers
which might be singled out for notice? something peaceable and friendly
to end the uncomfortable interview? The green-shaded lamp burnt in
the corner, and illumined books and pens and blotting-paper. The whole
aspect of the place started another train of thought and struck her as
enviably free; in such a room one could work--one could have a life of
one's own.

"I think you're very lucky," she observed. "I envy you, living alone and
having your own things"--and engaged in this exalted way, which had no
recognition or engagement-ring, she added in her own mind.

Mary's lips parted slightly. She could not conceive in what respects
Katharine, who spoke sincerely, could envy her.

"I don't think you've got any reason to envy me," she said.

"Perhaps one always envies other people," Katharine observed vaguely.

"Well, but you've got everything that any one can want."

Katharine remained silent. She gazed into