possibility of rivalry, and made them feel more sympathy for each other than for any one else in the world. Giving simultaneously a little nod, as if in confirmation of this understanding, they parted without speaking again.
CHAPTER XXIX
BETWEEN TWELVE AND ONE that Sunday night Katharine lay in bed, not asleep, but in that twilight region where a detached and humorous view of our own lot is possible; or if we must be serious, our seriousness is tempered by the swift oncome of slumber and oblivion. She saw the forms of Ralph, William, Cassandra, and herself, as if they were all equally unsubstantial, and, in putting off reality, had gained a kind of dignity which rested upon each impartially. Thus rid of any uncomfortable warmth of partisanship or load of obligation, she was dropping off to sleep when a light tap sounded upon her door. A moment later Cassandra stood beside her, holding a candle and speaking in the low tones proper to the time of night.
‘Are you awake, Katharine?’
‘Yes, I’m awake. What is it?’
She roused herself, sat up, and asked what in Heaven’s name Cassandra was doing?
‘I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I’d come and speak to you-only for a moment, though. I’m going home to- morrow’
‘Home? Why, what has happened?’
‘Something happened to-day which makes it impossible for me to stay here.’
Cassandra spoke formally, almost solemnly; the announcement was clearly prepared and marked a crisis of the utmost gravity. She continued what seemed to be part of a set speech.
‘I have decided to tell you the whole truth, Katharine. William allowed himself to behave in a way which made me extremely uncomfortable to-day.’
Katharine seemed to waken completely, and at once to be in control of herself.
‘At the Zoo?’ she asked.
‘No, on the way home. When we had tea.’
As if foreseeing that the interview might be long, and the night chilly, Katharine advised Cassandra to wrap herself in a quilt. Cassandra did so with unbroken solemnity.
‘There’s a train at eleven,’ she said. ‘I shall tell Aunt Maggie that I have to go suddenly ... I shall make Violet’s visit an excuse. But, after thinking it over, I don’t see how I can go without telling you the truth.’
She was careful to abstain from looking in Katharine’s direction. There was a slight pause.
‘But I don’t see the least reason why you should go,’ said Katharine eventually. Her voice sounded so astonishingly equable that Cassandra glanced at her. It was impossible to suppose that she was either indignant or surprised; she seemed, on the contrary, sitting up in bed, with her arms clasped round her knees and a little frown on her brow, to be thinking closely upon a matter of indifference to her.
‘Because I can’t allow any man to behave to me in that way,’ Cassandra replied, and she added, ‘particularly when I know that he is engaged to some one else.’
‘But you like him, don’t you?’ Katharine inquired.
‘That’s got nothing to do with it,’ Cassandra exclaimed indignantly. ‘I consider his conduct, under the circumstances, most disgraceful.’
This was the last of the sentences of her premeditated speech; and having spoken it she was left unprovided with any more to say in that particular style. When Katharine remarked:
‘I should say it had everything to do with it,’ Cassandra’s self-possession deserted her.
‘I don’t understand you in the least, Katharine. How can you behave as you behave? Ever since I came here I’ve been amazed by you!’
‘You’ve enjoyed yourself, haven’t you?’ Katharine asked.
‘Yes, I have,’ Cassandra admitted.
‘Anyhow, my behaviour hasn’t spoilt your visit.’
‘No,’ Cassandra allowed once more. She was completely at a loss. In her forecast of the interview she had taken it for granted that Katharine, after an outburst of incredulity, would agree that Cassandra must return home as soon as possible. But Katharine, on the contrary, accepted her statement at once, seemed neither shocked nor surprised, and merely looked rather more thoughtful than usual. From being a mature woman charged with an important mission, Cassandra shrunk to the stature of an inexperienced child.
‘Do you think I’ve been very foolish about it?’ she asked.
Katharine made no answer, but still sat deliberating silently, and a certain feeling of alarm took possession of Cassandra. Perhaps her words had struck far deeper than she had thought, into depths beyond her reach, as so much of Katharine was beyond her reach. She thought suddenly that she had been playing with very dangerous tools.
Looking at her at length, Katharine asked slowly, as if she found the question very difficult to ask:
‘But do you care for William?’
She marked the agitation and bewilderment of the girl’s expression, and how she looked away from her.
‘Do you mean, am I in love with him?’ Cassandra asked, breathing quickly, and nervously moving her hands.
‘Yes, in love with him,’ Katharine repeated.
