e table, daintily gloved hands supporting
her chin, Kathryn read and thought and wove _her_ plot with Northrup's
words, but half understood, lying under her gaze.

Suddenly Kathryn's eyes widened--her ears caught a sound. Never while
she lived was Kathryn Morris to forget her sensations of that moment,
for they were coloured and weighted by events that followed rapidly,
dramatically.

In the doorway stood Mary-Clare, a very embodiment of the girl
described in the pages on the table. The tall, slim, boyish figure in
rough breeches, coat, and cap, was a staggering apparition. The beauty
of the surprised face did not appeal to Kathryn, but she was not for
one instant deceived as to the sex of the person on the threshold, and
her none-too-pure mind made a wild and dangerous leap to a most
unstable point of disadvantage.

The girl in the doorway in some stupefying fashion represented the
"Fight" and the "Puddle" of Northrup's adventure. If Kathryn thought
at all, it was to the effect that she had known from start to finish
the whole miserable business, and she acted upon this unconscious
conclusion with never a doubt in her mind. The two women, in silence,
stared at each other for one of those moments that can never be
measured by rule. During the palpitating silence they were driven
together, while yet separated by a great space.

Kathryn's conclusion drove her on the rocks; Mary-Clare's startled her
into a state of clear vision. She recovered her poise first. She
smiled her perturbing smile; she came in and sat down and said
quietly:

"I was surprised. I am still."

Kathryn felt a wave of moral repugnance rise to her assistance. The
clothes might disguise the real state of affairs--but the voice
betrayed much. This was no crude country girl; here was something
rather more difficult to handle; one need not be pitiful and
condoning; one must not flinch.

"You expected, I suppose, to find Mr. Northrup?"

When Kathryn was deeply moved she spoke out of the corner of her
mouth. It was an unpleasant trick--her lips became hard and twisted.

"Oh! no, I did not, nor anyone else." The name seemed to hurt and
Mary-Clare leaned back. "May I ask who you are?" she said. Mary-Clare
was indignant at she hardly knew what; hurt, too, by what was
steadying her. She knew beyond doubt that the woman near her was one
of Northrup's world!

"I am Miss Morris. I am engaged to be married to Mr. Northrup."

It were better to cut deep