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 open. The portrait of Richard Alardyce attracted their attention.

“I wonder what he was like?” It was a question that Katharine had often asked herself lately.

“Oh, a fraud like the rest of them—at least Henry says so,” Cassandra replied. “Though I don’t believe everything Henry says,” she added a little defensively.

Down they went into Mr. Hilbery’s study, where they began to look among his books. So desultory was this examination that some fifteen minutes failed to discover the work they were in search of.

“Must you read Macaulay’s History, Cassandra?” Katharine asked, with a stretch of her arms.

“I must,” Cassandra replied briefly.

“Well, I’m going to leave you to look for it by yourself.”

“Oh 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. 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.”