ope your ladyship will take something to eat before you go
down-stairs," he added. "Mr. Powell told Sir Richard that it was still
early, and he desired that on no consideration should you be hurried."

Which little word of thoughtfulness on Dickie's part brought a
roundness to Katherine's cheek and a soft shining into her sweet eyes,
so that Honoria St. Quentin, sauntering into the room just then with
her habitual lazy grace, stood still a moment in pleased surprise,
noting the change in her friend's appearance.

"Why, dear Cousin Katherine," she asked, "what's happened? All's right
with the world!"

"Yes," Katherine answered. "God's very much in His heaven, to-day, and
all's right with all the world, because things are a little more right
with one man in it.--That is the woman's creed--always has been, I
suppose, and I rather hope always will be. It is frankly personal and
individualistic, I know. Possibly it is contemptibly narrow-minded.
Still I doubt if she will readily find another one which makes for
greater happiness or fulness of life. You don't agree, dearest, I
know--nevertheless pour out my tea for me, will you? I want to dispose
of this necessary evil of breakfast with all possible despatch. Richard
has sent for me. He has slept and is awake."

And as Miss St. Quentin served her dear friend, she pondered this
speech curiously, saying to herself:--"Yes, I did right, though I never
liked Ludovic Quayle better than now, and never liked any other man as
well as I like Ludovic Quayle. But that's not enough. I'm getting hold
of the appearance of the thing, but I haven't got hold of the thing
itself. And so the woman in me must continue to be kept in the back
attic. She shall be denied all further development. She shall have
nothing unless she can have the whole of it, and repeat Cousin
Katherine's creed from her heart."

Richard did not speak when Lady Calmady crossed the room and sat down
at the bedside. He barely raised his eyelids. But he felt out for her
hand across the surface of the sheet. And she took the proffered hand
in both hers and fell to stroking the palm of it with her finger-tips.
And this silent greeting, and confiding contact of hand with hand, was
to her exquisitely healing. It gave an assurance of nearness and
acknowledged ownership, more satisfying and convincing than many
eloquent phrases of welcome. And so she, too, remained silent, only
indeed permitting herself, for a little while, to