and that his formality was
merely the cover for an extreme anxiety of some sort. There was some
person then--some woman--who could it be? Cassandra? Ah, possibly--

"A person," she added, speaking in the most matter-of-fact tone she
could command, "like Cassandra Otway, for instance. Cassandra is the
most interesting of the Otways--with the exception of Henry. Even so,
I like Cassandra better. She has more than mere cleverness. She is a
character--a person by herself."

"Those dreadful insects!" burst from William, with a nervous laugh, and
a little spasm went through him as Katharine noticed. It WAS Cassandra
then. Automatically and dully she replied, "You could insist that she
confined herself to--to--something else.... But she cares for music;
I believe she writes poetry; and there can be no doubt that she has a
peculiar charm--"

She ceased, as if defining to herself this peculiar charm. After a
moment's silence William jerked out:

"I thought her affectionate?"

"Extremely affectionate. She worships Henry. When you think what a house
that is--Uncle Francis always in one mood or another--"

"Dear, dear, dear," William muttered.

"And you have so much in common."

"My dear Katharine!" William exclaimed, flinging himself back in his
chair, and uprooting his eyes from the spot in the fire. "I really don't
know what we're talking about.... I assure you...."

He was covered with an extreme confusion.

He withdrew the finger that was still thrust between the pages of
Gulliver, opened the book, and ran his eye down the list of chapters, as
though he were about to select the one most suitable for reading aloud.
As Katharine watched him, she was seized with preliminary symptoms of
his own panic. At the same time she was convinced that, should he find
the right page, take out his spectacles, clear his throat, and open his
lips, a chance that would never come again in all their lives would be
lost to them both.

"We're talking about things that interest us both very much," she said.
"Shan't we go on talking, and leave Swift for another time? I don't feel
in the mood for Swift, and it's a pity to read any one when that's the
case--particularly Swift."

The presence of wise literary speculation, as she calculated, restored
William's confidence in his security, and he replaced the book in
the bookcase, keeping his back turned to her as he did so, and taking
advantage of this circumstance to summon his thoughts tog