Mrs. Langham drooped in discouragement. “That she is engaged in good works. But in Philadelphia! Who believes in good works in Philadelphia? Besides, she’s acting as a nurse--for payment. That isn’t good works, and it’s disagreeable to lie even about one’s sister.” “Whatever Katya did,” Robert Grimshaw answered seriously, “she would be engaged in good works. You might pay her a king’s salary, and she’d still do more than she was paid for. That’s what it is to do good works.” “But if you had taken her on her own terms ...”--Mrs. Langham seemed as if she were pleading with hint--“don’t you think that one day she or you will give in?” “I think she never will, and she may be right,” he answered. “I think I never shall, and I know I am.” “But if no one ever knew,” she said “wouldn’t it be the same thing as the other thing?” “Ellida, dear,” he answered gravely, “wouldn’t _that_ mean a great deal more lying for you--about your sister?” “But wouldn’t it be much better worth lying about?” she appealed to him. “You are such a dear, she’s such a dear, and I could cry; I want you to come together so much!” “I don’t think I shall ever give in,” he answered. And then, seeing a real moisture of tears in the eyes that were turned towards him, he said: “I might, but not till I grow much more tired--oh, _much_ more tired!--than I am.” And then he added, as briskly as he could, for he spoke habitually in low tones, “I am coming in to supper to-night, tell Paul. How’s Kitty?” They were turning across the soft going, down towards where Mrs. Langham’s motor was waiting for her beside the door of the French Embassy. “Oh, Doctor Tressider says there’s nothing to be fundamentally anxious about. He says that there are many children of six who are healthy enough and can’t speak. I don’t exactly know how to put it, but he says--well, you might call it a form of obstinacy.” Robert Grimshaw said “Ah!” “Oh, I know you think,” his cousin commented, “that that runs in the family. At any rate, there’s Kitty as lively as a lark and perfectly sound physically, and she won’t speak.” “And there’s Katya,” Mr. Grimshaw said, “as lively as a thoroughbred, and as sound as a roach, and a great deal better than any angel--and she won’t marry.” Again Mrs. Langham was silent for a moment or two, then she added: “There was mother, too. I suppose that was a form of obstinacy. You remember she always _used_ to say that she would imitate poor mother to the death. Why--mother used to dress ten years before her age so that Katya should not look like a lady of fifty. What a couple of angels they were, weren’t they?” “You haven’t heard”--Mr. Grimshaw continued his musings--“you haven’t heard from your mother’s people that there was any obstacle?”