moved as if he were acting some part to himself。 He came
down very slowly； step by step； with one hand upon the
banisters to guide himself。 She thought he looked as if
he were in some mood of high exaltation； which it made
her unfortable to witness any longer unseen。 She
stepped into the hall。 He gave a great start upon seeing
her and stopped。
“Katharine！” he exclaimed。 “You’ve been out？” he asked。
“Yes… 。 Are they still up？”
He did not answer； and walked into the groundfloor
room through the door which stood open。
“It’s been more wonderful than I can tell you；” he said；
“I’m incredibly happy—”
He was scarcely addressing her； and she said nothing。
For a moment they stood at opposite sides of a table
saying nothing。 Then he asked her quickly； “But tell me；
how did it seem to you？ What did you think； Katharine？
Is there a chance that she likes me？ Tell me； Katharine！”
Before she could answer a door opened on the landing
above and disturbed them。 It disturbed William excessively。
He started back； walked rapidly into the hall； and
said in a loud and ostentatiously ordinary tone：
“Good night； Katharine。 Go to bed now。 I shall see you
soon。 I hope I shall be able to e tomorrow。”
Next moment he was gone。 She went upstairs and found
Cassandra on the landing。 She held two or three books in
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her hand； and she was stooping to look at others in a
little bookcase。 She said that she could never tell which
book she wanted to read in bed； poetry； biography； or
metaphysics。
“What do you read in bed； Katharine？” she asked； as
they walked upstairs side by side。
“Sometimes one thing—sometimes another；” said
Katharine vaguely。 Cassandra looked at her。
“D’you know； you’re extraordinarily queer；” she said。 “Every
one seems to me a little queer。 Perhaps it’s the effect
of London。”
“Is William queer； too？” Katharine asked。
“Well； I think he is a little；” Cassandra replied。 “Queer；
but very fascinating。 I shall read Milton tonight。 It’s
been one of the happiest nights of my life； Katharine；”
she added； looking with shy devotion at her cousin’s beautiful
face。
CHAPTER XXVII
London； in the first days of spring； has buds that open
and flowers that suddenly shake their petals—white；
purple； or crimson—in petition with the display in
the garden beds； although these city flowers are merely
so many doors flung wide in Bond Street and the neighborhood；
inviting you to look at a picture； or hear a symphony；
or merely crowd and crush yourself among all sorts
of vocal； excitable； brightly colored human beings。 But；
all the same； it is no mean rival to the quieter process of
vegetable florescence。 Whether or not there is a generous
motive at the root； a desire to share and impart； or
whether the animation is purely that of insensate fervor
and friction； the effect； while it lasts； certainly encourages
those who are young； and those who are ignorant；
to think the world one great bazaar； with banners fluttering
and divans heaped with spoils from every quarter of
the globe for their delight。
As Cassandra Otway went about London provided with
shillings that opened turnstiles； or more often with large
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white cards that disregarded turnstiles； the city seemed
to her the most lavish and hospitable of hosts。 After visiting
the National Gallery； or Hertford House； or hearing
Brahms or Beethoven at the Bechstein Hall； she would
e back to find a new person awaiting her； in whose
soul were imbedded some grains of the invaluable substance
which she still called reality； and still believed
that she could find。 The Hilberys； as the saying is； “knew
every one；” and that arrogant claim was certainly upheld
by the number of houses which； within a certain area； lit
their lamps at night； opened their doors after 3 p。 m。；
and admitted the Hilberys to their diningrooms； say； once
a month。 An indefinable freedom and authority of manner；
shared by most of the people who lived in these
houses； seemed to indicate that whether it was a question
of art； music； or government； they were well within
the gates； and could smile indulgently at the vast mass
of humanity which is forced to wait and struggle； and
pay for entrance with mon coin at the door。 The gates
opened instantly to admit Cassandra。 She was naturally
critical of what went on inside； and inclined to quote
what Henry would have said； but she often succeeded in
contradicting Henry； in his absence； and invariably paid
her partner at dinner； or the kind old lady who remembered
her grandmother； the pliment of believing that
there was meaning in what they said。 For the sake of the
light in her eager eyes； much crudity of expression and
some untidiness of person were forgiven her。 It was generally
felt that； given a year or two of experience； introduced
to good dressmakers； and preserved from bad influences；
she would be an acquisition。 Those elderly ladies；
who sit on the edge of ballrooms sampling the stuff
of humanity between finger and thumb and breathing so
evenly that the necklaces； which rise and fall upon their
breasts； seem to represent some elemental force； such as
the waves upon the ocean of humanity； concluded； a little
smilingly； that she would do。 They meant that she would
in all probability marry some young man whose mother
they respected。
William Rodney was fertile in suggestions。 He knew of
little galleries； and select concerts； and private performances；
and somehow made time to meet Katharine and
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Cassandra； and to give them tea or dinner or supper in
his rooms afterwards。 Each one of her fourteen days thus
promised to bear some bright illumination in its sober
text。 But Sunday approached。 The day is usually dedicated
to Nature。 The weather was almost kindly enough
for an expedition。 But Cassandra rejected Hampton Court；
Greenwich； Richmond； and Kew in favor of the Zoological
Gardens。 She had once trifled with the psychology of
animals； and still knew something about inherited characteristics。
On Sunday afternoon； therefore； Katharine；
Cassandra； and William Rodney drove off to the Zoo。 As
their cab approached the entrance； Katharine bent forward
and waved her hand to a young man who was walking
rapidly in the same direction。
“There’s Ralph Denham！” she exclaimed。 “I told him to
meet us here；” she added。 She had even e provided
with a ticket for him。 William’s objection that he would
not be admitted was； therefore； silenced directly。 But the
way in which the two men greeted each other was significant
of what was going to happen。 As soon as they
had admired the little birds in the large cage William and
Cassandra lagged behind； and Ralph and Katharine pressed
on rather in advance。 It was an arrangement in which
William took his part； and one that suited his convenience；
but he was annoyed all the same。 He thought
that Katharine should have told him that she had invited
Denham to meet them。
“One of Katharine’s friends；” he said rather sharply。 It
was clear that he was irritated； and Cassandra felt for his
annoyance。 They were standing by the pen of some Oriental
hog； and she was prodding the brute gently with
the point of her umbrella； when a thousand little observations
seemed； in some way； to collect in one center。
The center was one of intense and curious emotion。 Were
they happy？ She dismissed the question as she asked it；
scorning herself for applying such simple measures to
the rare and splendid emotions of so unique a couple。
Nevertheless； her manner became immediately different；
as if； for the first time； she felt consciously womanly； and
as if William might conceivably wish later on to confide
in her。 She forgot all about the psychology of animals；
and the recurrence of blue eyes and brown； and became
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instantly engrossed in her feelings as a woman who could
administer consolation； and she hoped that Katharine
would keep ahead with Mr。 Denham； as a child who plays
at being grownup hopes that her mother won’t e in
just yet； and spoil the game。 Or was it not rather that she
had ceased to play at being grownup； and was conscious；
suddenly； that she was alarmingly mature and in earnest？
There was still unbroken silence between Katharine and
Ralph Denham； but the occupants of the different cages
served instead of speech。
“What have you been doing since we met？” Ralph asked
at length。
“Doing？” she pondered。 “Walking in and out of other
people’s houses。 I wonder if these animals are happy？”
she speculated； stopping before a gray bear； who was
philosophically playing with a tassel which once； perhaps；
formed part of a lady’s parasol。
“I’m afraid Rodney didn’t like my ing；” Ralph remarked。
“No。 But he’ll soon get over that；” she replied。 The detachment
expressed by her voice puzzled Ralph； and he
would have been glad if she had explained her meaning
further。 But he was not going to press her for explanations。
Each moment was to be； as far as he could make it；
plete in itself； owing nothing of its happiness to explanations；
borrowing neither bright nor dark tints from
the future。
“The bears seem happy；” he remarked。 “But we must
buy them a bag of something。 There’s the place to buy
buns。 Let’s go and get them。” They walked to the counter
piled with little paper bags； and each simultaneously produced
a shilling and pressed it upon the young lady； who
did not know whether to oblige the lady or the gentleman；
but decided； from conventional reasons； that it was
the part of the gentleman to pay。
“I wish to pay；” said Ralph peremptorily； refusing the
coin which Katharine tendered。 “I have a reason for what
I do；” he added； seeing her smile at his tone of decision。
“I believe you have a reason for everything；” she agreed；
breaking the bun into parts and tossing them down the
bears’ throats； “but I can’t be