desire to know the truth of this was urgent, unknown though the
consequences might be. The thrill of excitement associated with the
thought of Cassandra once more took possession of him. No longer was it
the excitement of anticipation and ignorance; it was the excitement
of something greater than a possibility, for now he knew her and had
measure of the sympathy between them. But who could give him certainty?
Could Katharine, Katharine who had lately lain in his arms, Katharine
herself the most admired of women? He looked at her, with doubt, and
with anxiety, but said nothing.

"Yes, yes," she said, interpreting his wish for assurance, "it's true. I
know what she feels for you."

"She loves me?"

Katharine nodded.

"Ah, but who knows what I feel? How can I be sure of my feeling myself?
Ten minutes ago I asked you to marry me. I still wish it--I don't know
what I wish--"

He clenched his hands and turned away. He suddenly faced her and
demanded: "Tell me what you feel for Denham."

"For Ralph Denham?" she asked. "Yes!" she exclaimed, as if she had found
the answer to some momentarily perplexing question. "You're jealous
of me, William; but you're not in love with me. I'm jealous of you.
Therefore, for both our sakes, I say, speak to Cassandra at once."

He tried to compose himself. He walked up and down the room; he paused
at the window and surveyed the flowers strewn upon the floor. Meanwhile
his desire to have Katharine's assurance confirmed became so insistent
that he could no longer deny the overmastering strength of his feeling
for Cassandra.

"You're right," he exclaimed, coming to a standstill and rapping his
knuckles sharply upon a small table carrying one slender vase. "I love
Cassandra."

As he said this, the curtains hanging at the door of the little room
parted, and Cassandra herself stepped forth.

"I have overheard every word!" she exclaimed.

A pause succeeded this announcement. Rodney made a step forward and
said:

"Then you know what I wish to ask you. Give me your answer--"

She put her hands before her face; she turned away and seemed to shrink
from both of them.

"What Katharine said," she murmured. "But," she added, raising her head
with a look of fear from the kiss with which he greeted her admission,
"how frightfully difficult it all is! Our feelings, I mean--yours and
mine and Katharine's. Katharine, tell me, are we doing right?"

"Right--of course we're doing right," William