what I'd much rather not say? What I
say is only for your own sake, my child."

"There's nothing to forgive yet, Aunt Celia," said Katharine, with
apparent good humor.

"People are saying that William goes everywhere with you and Cassandra,
and that he is always paying her attentions. At the Markhams' dance he
sat out five dances with her. At the Zoo they were seen alone together.
They left together. They never came back here till seven in the evening.
But that is not all. They say his manner is very marked--he is quite
different when she is there."

Mrs. Milvain, whose words had run themselves together, and whose voice
had raised its tone almost to one of protest, here ceased, and looked
intently at Katharine, as if to judge the effect of her communication. A
slight rigidity had passed over Katharine's face. Her lips were pressed
together; her eyes were contracted, and they were still fixed upon the
curtain. These superficial changes covered an extreme inner loathing
such as might follow the display of some hideous or indecent spectacle.
The indecent spectacle was her own action beheld for the first time from
the outside; her aunt's words made her realize how infinitely repulsive
the body of life is without its soul.

"Well?" she said at length.

Mrs. Milvain made a gesture as if to bring her closer, but it was not
returned.

"We all know how good you are--how unselfish--how you sacrifice yourself
to others. But you've been too unselfish, Katharine. You have made
Cassandra happy, and she has taken advantage of your goodness."

"I don't understand, Aunt Celia," said Katharine. "What has Cassandra
done?"

"Cassandra has behaved in a way that I could not have thought possible,"
said Mrs. Milvain warmly. "She has been utterly selfish--utterly
heartless. I must speak to her before I go."

"I don't understand," Katharine persisted.

Mrs. Milvain looked at her. Was it possible that Katharine really
doubted? That there was something that Mrs. Milvain herself did not
understand? She braced herself, and pronounced the tremendous words:

"Cassandra has stolen William's love."

Still the words seemed to have curiously little effect.

"Do you mean," said Katharine, "that he has fallen in love with her?"

"There are ways of MAKING men fall in love with one, Katharine."

Katharine remained silent. The silence alarmed Mrs. Milvain, and she
began hurriedly:

"Nothing would have made me say these things but your own