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 “Was that him?” she asked.

“It was Ralph Denham,” Katharine replied.

“I meant Ralph Denham.”

“Why did you mean Ralph Denham? What has William told you about Ralph Denham?” The accusation that Katharine was calm, callous, and indifferent was not possible in face of her present air of animation. She gave Cassandra no time to frame an answer. “Now, when are you and William going to be married?” she asked.

Cassandra made no reply for some moments. It was, indeed, a very difficult question to answer. In conversation the night before, William had indicated to Cassandra that, in his belief, Katharine was becoming engaged to Ralph Denham in the dining-room. Cassandra, in the rosy light of her own circumstances, had been disposed to think that the matter must be settled already. But a letter which she had received that morning from William, while ardent in its expression of affection, had conveyed to her obliquely that he would prefer the announcement of their engagement to coincide with that of Katharine’s. This document Cassandra now produced, and read aloud, with considerable excisions and much hesitation.

“a thousand pities—ahem—I fear we shall cause a great deal of natural annoyance. If, on the other hand, what I have reason to think will happen, should happen—within reasonable time, and the present position is not in any way offensive to you, delay would, in my opinion, serve all our interests better than a premature explanation, which is bound to cause more surprise than is desirable”

“Very like William,” Katharine exclaimed, having gathered the drift of these remarks with a speed that, by itself, disconcerted Cassandra.

“I quite understand his feelings,” Cassandra replied. “I quite agree with them. I think it would be much