no, Katharine. Please stay and help me. You see--you see--I told
William I'd read a little every day. And I want to tell him that I've
begun when he comes."

"When does William come?" Katharine asked, turning to the shelves again.

"To tea, if that suits you?"

"If it suits me to be out, I suppose you mean."

"Oh, you're horrid.... Why shouldn't you--?"

"Yes?"

"Why shouldn't you be happy too?"

"I am quite happy," Katharine replied.

"I mean as I am. Katharine," she said impulsively, "do let's be married
on the same day."

"To the same man?"

"Oh, no, no. But why shouldn't you marry--some one else?"

"Here's your Macaulay," said Katharine, turning round with the book in
her hand. "I should say you'd better begin to read at once if you mean
to be educated by tea-time."

"Damn Lord Macaulay!" cried Cassandra, slapping the book upon the table.
"Would you rather not talk?"

"We've talked enough already," Katharine replied evasively.

"I know I shan't be able to settle to Macaulay," said Cassandra, looking
ruefully at the dull red cover of the prescribed volume, which, however,
possessed a talismanic property, since William admired it. He had
advised a little serious reading for the morning hours.

"Have YOU read Macaulay?" she asked.

"No. William never tried to educate me." As she spoke she saw the light
fade from Cassandra's face, as if she had implied some other, more
mysterious, relationship. She was stung with compunction. She marveled
at her own rashness in having influenced the life of another, as she had
influenced Cassandra's life.

"We weren't serious," she said quickly.

"But I'm fearfully serious," said Cassandra, with a little shudder,
and her look showed that she spoke the truth. She turned and glanced at
Katharine as she had never glanced at her before. There was fear in her
glance, which darted on her and then dropped guiltily. Oh, Katharine
had everything--beauty, mind, character. She could never compete with
Katharine; she could never be safe so long as Katharine brooded over
her, dominating her, disposing of her. She called her cold, unseeing,
unscrupulous, but the only sign she gave outwardly was a curious
one--she reached out her hand and grasped the volume of history. At that
moment the bell of the telephone rang and Katharine went to answer it.
Cassandra, released from observation, dropped her book and clenched her
hands. She suffered more fiery torture in those few minutes th