te content.

Katrine was never admitted into her brother's confidence about his work.
He had allowed it to be known that he could not suffer questions or
remarks; never once in those eight years had she dared to question
concerning a heroine's eyes. Through mental storms and sunshine, she
had "sat tight," observant but silent, expressing her sympathy,
Martha-like, in soups and sauces. It was not for Grizel to obtrude
where she, a sister, might not go.

Katrine pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet.

"You are talking nonsense, my dear. Come upstairs! You look tired to
death, and your hair is coming down. I'll give you a book, and you can
sleep or read until it's time to dress. I'll carry your things." She
gathered together the scattered hat, gloves, and bag, and led the way
upstairs, Grizel trailing slowly in her wake.

The bedroom was sweet and fresh; after the manner of such rooms in
country houses, a bowl of roses stood on a table; through the open
window the air blew soft and clean. Grizel looked around with smiling
satisfaction; then dropping her impedimenta on the bed, and wheeling
round with a swift, unexpected movement, she faced her hostess, and
nipped her chin between a thumb and forefinger.

The two faces were close together: for a moment Katrine smiled,
unconcerned and amused, but the honey-coloured eyes stared on, stared
deep, stared with a long, unblinking intentness which brought the colour
rushing to her cheeks. She twitched her head, the small fingers gripped
with unexpected tenacity; she frowned and fumed, but the eyes stared
relentlessly on. Finally she raised both hands and forced herself free.

"Grizel, what _is_ it? Why are you staring? What in the world has
happened?"

"And that, my lamb," returned Grizel calmly, "is just precisely what I
am axing myself!"

She turned her back, and strolled nonchalantly across the rooms.

CHAPTER SIX.

When Grizel sailed down to dinner two hours later, it would have been
difficult to recognise in her the pallid traveller of the afternoon.
She was gorgeously attired in a robe of golden net covered with an
embroidery of the same hue. The golden sheaf clung round her, and
trailed heavily on the ground; encased in it her body appeared of an
incredible slimness, yet from head to foot there was not one angle, not
one harsh, unlovely line. Nymph, elf, fay, she was all rounded curve
and dimple, from satin shoulder to arched and tiny feet