The fact that she would be late in keeping her engagement with William
was not the only reason which sent Katharine almost at racing speed
along the Strand in the direction of his rooms. Punctuality might have
been achieved by taking a cab, had she not wished the open air to
fan into flame the glow kindled by Mary's words. For among all the
impressions of the evening's talk one was of the nature of a revelation
and subdued the rest to insignificance. Thus one looked; thus one spoke;
such was love.

"She sat up straight and looked at me, and then she said, 'I'm in
love,'" Katharine mused, trying to set the whole scene in motion. It
was a scene to dwell on with so much wonder that not a grain of pity
occurred to her; it was a flame blazing suddenly in the dark; by
its light Katharine perceived far too vividly for her comfort the
mediocrity, indeed the entirely fictitious character of her own feelings
so far as they pretended to correspond with Mary's feelings. She made up
her mind to act instantly upon the knowledge thus gained, and cast
her mind in amazement back to the scene upon the heath, when she had
yielded, heaven knows why, for reasons which seemed now imperceptible.
So in broad daylight one might revisit the place where one has groped
and turned and succumbed to utter bewilderment in a fog.

"It's all so simple," she said to herself. "There can't be any doubt.
I've only got to speak now. I've only got to speak," she went on saying,
in time to her own footsteps, and completely forgot Mary Datchet.

William Rodney, having come back earlier from the office than he
expected, sat down to pick out the melodies in "The Magic Flute" upon
the piano. Katharine was late, but that was nothing new, and, as she had
no particular liking for music, and he felt in the mood for it, perhaps
it was as well. This defect in Katharine was the more strange, William
reflected, because, as a rule, the women of her family were unusually
musical. Her cousin, Cassandra Otway, for example, had a very fine taste
in music, and he had charming recollections of her in a light fantastic
attitude, playing the flute in the morning-room at Stogdon House. He
recalled with pleasure the amusing way in which her nose, long like all
the Otway noses, seemed to extend itself into the flute, as if she were
some inimitably graceful species of musical mole. The little picture
suggested very happily her melodious and whimsical temperament. The
enthusiasms