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 swaying affably from side to side, with his back to the fire. “Come here, Katharine. I couldn’t see where you’d got to—our children,” he observed parenthetically, “have their uses─I want you to go to my study, Katharine; go to the third shelf on the right-hand side of the door; take down ‘Trelawny’s Recollections of Shelley’; bring it to me. Then, Peyton, you will have to admit to the assembled company that you have been mistaken.”

“‘Trelawny’s Recollections of Shelley.’ The third shelf on the right of the door,” Katharine repeated. After all, one does not check children in their play, or rouse sleepers from their dreams. She passed William and Cassandra on her way to the door.

“Stop, Katharine,” said William, speaking almost as if he were conscious of her against his will. “Let me go.” He rose, after a second’s hesitation, and she understood that it cost him an effort. She knelt one knee upon the sofa where Cassandra sat, looking down at her cousin’s face, which still moved with the speed of what she had been saying.

“Are you—happy?” she asked.

“Oh, my dear!” Cassandra exclaimed, as if no further words were needed. “Of course, we disagree about every subject under the sun,” she exclaimed, “but I think he’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met—and you’re the most beautiful woman,” she added, looking at Katharine, and as she looked her face lost its animation and became almost melancholy in sympathy with Katharine’s melancholy, which seemed to Cassandra the last refinement of her distinction.

“Ah, but it’s only ten o'clock,” said Katharine darkly.

“As late as that! Well?” She did not understand.

“At twelve my horses turn into rats and off I go. The illusion fades. But I accept my fate. I make hay while