instructed so
to do by William, of their engagement.

"William," she said, "thinks that perhaps you don't know. We are going
to be married."

Mary found herself shaking William's hand, and addressing her
congratulations to him, as if Katharine were inaccessible; she had,
indeed, taken hold of the tea-kettle.

"Let me see," Katharine said, "one puts hot water into the cups first,
doesn't one? You have some dodge of your own, haven't you, William,
about making tea?"

Mary was half inclined to suspect that this was said in order to conceal
nervousness, but if so, the concealment was unusually perfect. Talk
of marriage was dismissed. Katharine might have been seated in her
own drawing-room, controlling a situation which presented no sort of
difficulty to her trained mind. Rather to her surprise, Mary found
herself making conversation with William about old Italian pictures,
while Katharine poured out tea, cut cake, kept William's plate supplied,
without joining more than was necessary in the conversation. She seemed
to have taken possession of Mary's room, and to handle the cups as
if they belonged to her. But it was done so naturally that it bred no
resentment in Mary; on the contrary, she found herself putting her hand
on Katharine's knee, affectionately, for an instant. Was there something
maternal in this assumption of control? And thinking of Katharine as one
who would soon be married, these maternal airs filled Mary's mind with a
new tenderness, and even with awe. Katharine seemed very much older and
more experienced than she was.

Meanwhile Rodney talked. If his appearance was superficially against
him, it had the advantage of making his solid merits something of a
surprise. He had kept notebooks; he knew a great deal about pictures.
He could compare different examples in different galleries, and his
authoritative answers to intelligent questions gained not a little, Mary
felt, from the smart taps which he dealt, as he delivered them, upon the
lumps of coal. She was impressed.

"Your tea, William," said Katharine gently.

He paused, gulped it down, obediently, and continued.

And then it struck Mary that Katharine, in the shade of her
broad-brimmed hat, and in the midst of the smoke, and in the obscurity
of her character, was, perhaps, smiling to herself, not altogether in
the maternal spirit. What she said was very simple, but her words, even
"Your tea, William," were set down as gently and cautiously and