‘Must you read Macaulay’s History, Cassandra?’ Katharine asked, with a stretch of her arms.
‘I must,’ Cassandra replied briefly.
‘Well, I’m going to leave you to look for it by yourself.’
‘Oh no, Katharine. Please stay and help me. You see—you see—I told William I’d read a little every day. And I want to tell him that I’ve begun when he comes.’
‘When does William come?’ Katharine asked, turning to the shelves again.
‘To tea, if that suits you?’
‘If it suits me to be out, I suppose you mean.’
‘Oh, you’re horrid ... Why shouldn’t you—?’
‘Yes?’
‘Why shouldn’t you be happy too?’
‘I am quite happy,’ Katharine replied.
‘I mean as I am. Katharine,’ she said impulsively, ‘do let’s be married on the same day.’
‘To the same man?’
‘Oh no. But why shouldn’t you marry—some one else?’
‘Here’s your Macaulay,’ said Katharine, turning round with the book in her hand. ‘I should say you’d better begin to read at once if you mean to be educated by tea-time.’
‘Damn Lord Macaulay!’ cried Cassandra, slapping the book upon the table. ‘Would you rather not talk?’
‘We’ve talked enough already,’ Katharine replied evasively.
‘I know I shan’t be able to settle to Macaulay,’ said Cassandra, looking ruefully at the dull red cover of the prescribed volume, which, however, possessed a talismanic property, since William admired it. He had advised a little serious reading for the morning hours.
‘Have
‘No. William never tried to educate me.’ As she spoke she saw the light fade from Cassandra’s face, as if she had implied some other, more mysterious, relationship. She was stung with compunction. She marvelled at her own rashness in having influenced the life of another, as she had influenced Cassandra’s life.
‘We weren’t serious,’ she said quickly.
‘But I’m fearfully serious,’ said Cassandra, with a little shudder, and her look showed that she spoke the truth. She turned and glanced at Katharine as she had never glanced at her before. There was fear in her glance, which darted on her and then dropped guiltily. Oh, Katharine had everything—beauty, mind, character. She could never compete with Katharine; she could never be safe so long as Katharine brooded over her, dominating her, disposing of her. She called her cold, unseeing, unscrupulous, but the only sign she gave outwardly was a curious one—she reached out her hand and grasped the volume of history. At that moment the bell of the telephone rang and Katharine went to answer it. Cassandra, released from observation, dropped her book and clenched her hands. She suffered more fiery torture in those few minutes than she had suffered in the whole of her life; she learnt more of her capacities for feeling. But when Katharine reappeared she was calm, and had gained a look of dignity that was new to her.
‘Was that him?’ she asked.
‘It was Ralph Denham,’ Katharine replied.
‘I meant Ralph Denham.’
‘Why did you mean Ralph Denham? What has William told you about Ralph Denham?’ The accusation that Katharine was calm, callous, and indifferent was not possible in face of her present air of animation. She gave Cassandra no time to frame an answer. ‘Now, when are you and William going to be married?’ she asked.
Cassandra made no reply for some moments. It was, indeed, a very difficult question to answer. In conversation the night before, William had indicated to Cassandra that, in his belief, Katharine was becoming engaged to Ralph Denham in the dining-room. Cassandra, in the rosy light of her own circumstances, had been disposed to think that the matter must be settled already. But a letter which she had received that morning from William, while ardent in its expression of affection, had conveyed to her obliquely that he would prefer the announcement of their engagement to coincide with that of Katharine’s. This document Cassandra now produced, and read aloud, with considerable excisions and much hesitation.
‘ ... a thousand pities—ahem—I fear we shall cause a great deal of natural annoyance. If, on the other hand what I have reason to think will happen, should happen—within reasonable time, and the present position is not in any way offensive to you, delay would, in my opinion, serve all our interests better than a premature explanation, which is bound to cause more surprise than is desirable—’
‘Very like William,’ Katharine exclaimed, having gathered the drift of these remarks with a speed that, by itself, disconcerted Cassandra.
‘I quite understand his feelings,’ Cassandra replied. ‘I quite agree with them. I think it would be much better, if you intend to marry Mr Denham, that we should wait as William says.’
‘But, then, if I don’t marry him for months—or, perhaps, not at all?’
Cassandra was silent. The prospect appalled her. Katharine had been telephoning to Ralph Denham; she looked queer, too; she must be, or about to become, engaged to him. But if Cassandra could have overheard the conversation upon the telephone, she would not have felt so certain that it tended in that direction. It was to this effect:
‘I’m Ralph Denham speaking. I’m in my right senses now.’
‘How long did you wait outside the house?’
