She clung with passionate insistence to this self-justification. Since her lot of loneliness had fallen upon her, she had accepted it implicitly, never sought to form ties of even the most delicate and ephemeral nature. She had contemplated the grey, loveless, lonely stretch of future years as the logical consequence of the past, and sometimes its stern inevitableness crushed her. Life for life, which had the greater need of joy--her own or that of the young girl? The law of eternal justice seemed to ring answer in her heart--as it has rung in the heart of every daughter of Hagar since the world began. Late that evening she was standing on the balcony outside the salon. They had passed a merry evening. A concert-singer from London, who had arrived the day before, had good-naturedly sung for them. Old Mr. Chetwynd had been witty and charming. Commandant Pornichon had told, with Gascon verve, stories of camp and war. Raine had talked and laughed in his wholehearted way. Everyone had been gay, good-tempered. Felicia had been in buoyant mood, adding her fresh note to the talk; had even addressed to her a few laughing words. One by one all had left the salon. The last had been Mme. Popea, who had remained for a quiet chatter with her about the events of the evening. She was alone now, in the moonlight, feeling less at war with herself than during the day. Laughter and song are good for the heart. She leant her cheek on her elbow and mused. Perhaps she was a wicked woman to try to come between a girl and her happiness. After all, would not the sacrifice of self be a noble thing? But suddenly she heard the salon door open and an entering footstep that caused her heart to leap within her. With an incontrollable impulse she moved and showed herself at the window. “How delightful to find you!” exclaimed Raine. “I came almost on a forlorn hope.” “I stayed to sentimentalize a little in the moonlight,” said Katherine. “I thought you had gone to the _café_.” “No; I have been sitting with my father,” he said, pulling a chair on to the balcony and motioning her to it. “And then, when I left him, I thought it would be pleasant to talk to you--so I came. I have not had a word with you all day.” “I have missed our argument too,” admitted Katherine. “So you had a pleasant expedition?” “Very,” said Raine. “But I wished you had been there.” “You had your father and Felicia.” “That was the worst of it,” he said laughingly. “They are so much in love with one another, that I was the third that makes company nought.”