ace
herself; she needed no atonement for the so apparent fact that Tante
wanted to be left alone with Mr. Drew as much as possible. The
difficulty in leaving her came with perceiving that though Tante wanted
her to go she did not want to seem to want it.

She caressed Karen; she addressed her talk to her; she kept her; yet,
under the smile of the eyes, there was an intentness that Karen could
interpret. It devolved upon her to find the excuse, the necessity, for
withdrawal. Mrs. Talcott, in the morning-room, was a solution. Karen
could go to her almost directly after dinner, as soon as coffee had been
served; for on the first occasion when she rose, saying that she would
have her coffee with Mrs. Talcott, Tante said with some sharpness--after
a hesitation: "No; you will have your coffee here. Tallie does not have
coffee." Groping her way, Karen seemed to touch strange forms. Tante
cared so much about this young man; so much that it was almost as if she
would be willing to abandon her dignity for him. It was more than the
indulgent, indolent interest, wholly Olympian, that she had so often
seen her bestow. She really cared. And the strangeness for Karen was in
part made up of pain for Tante; for it almost seemed that Tante cared
more than Mr. Drew did. Karen had seen so many men care for Tante; so
many who were, obviously, in love with her; but she had seen Tante
always throned high above the prostrate adorers, idly kind; holding out
a hand, perhaps, for them to kiss; smiling, from time to time, if they,
fortunately, pleased her; but never, oh never, stepping down towards
them.

It seemed to her now that she had seen Tante stepping down. It was only
a step; she could never become the suppliant, the pursuing goddess; and,
as if with her hand still laid on the arm of her throne, she kept all
her air of high command.

But had she kept its power? Mr. Drew's demeanour reminded Karen
sometimes of a cat's. Before the glance and voice of authority he would,
metaphorically, pace away; pausing to blink up at some object that
attracted his attention or to interest himself in the furbishing of
flank or chest. At a hint of anger or coercion, he would tranquilly
disappear. Tante, controlling indignation, was left to stare after him
and to regain the throne as best she might, and at these moments Karen
felt that Tante's eye turned on her, gauging her power of
interpretation, ready, did she not feign the right degree of
unconsciousn