“I will carry her to her room,” said Raine, lifting her thin body in his arms. “Come and help me,” he added, signing with his head to Felicia and Katherine. They followed him out and upstairs. He laid her down on her bed. “You know what to do, don't you?” he said to Katherine, as he left the two with the unconscious lady. “Poor thing. It will break her heart,” whispered Katherine, as she busied herself with the hooks and eyes and laces. “I don't much believe in the fragility of women's hearts,” said Felicia. “Why do you say that, Felicia?” said Katherine gently. “You know that you don't mean it.” “Oh!” said Felicia with a little inflexion of superciliousness, “I generally say what I mean.” Katherine did not reply, reading her well enough by her own general knowledge of human nature. We often contradict our own common sense and better impulses, for the unprofitable satisfaction of contradicting our enemy. So when poor Miss Bunter opened her eyes and recovered consciousness, feeling sick and giddy and cold, and, seizing Felicia's hand, broke into miserable crying and sobbing, Katherine judged it wiser to leave the two of them alone together, without any further offer to share Felicia's ministrations. When she entered the salon a little later, she found most of the party preparing to go out to see the illuminations. The little tragedy was still being discussed, and Katherine was beset by questioners. Little Miss Bunter's love story had long been common property in the pension, as she had told it to each of the ladies in the very strictest confidence. The exodus of the guests began. Mme. Popea ran out of the room and quickly returned to Katherine's side. “Mademoiselle Graves will not come,” she said, buttoning her glove. “Could not you go and persuade her?” “I fear I should be of no use, Mme. Popea,” said Katherine. “I will ask Mr. Chetwynd.” “Ah! Then she will come,” laughed Mme. Popea--and she hurried out after the Pornichons, who had asked her to accompany them. Katherine passed by the few remaining people, chiefly ladies, standing about the room in hats and wraps, to meet Raine, who was just coming in from the balcony, where he had been smoking. “I hear that Felicia won't go to the _fête_. Don't you think you could persuade her? It would do her good. She has been looking forward to it so much.” But Raine shook his head and looked down at her, tugging his blonde moustache. It was an embarrassing request. Katherine half divined, and forbore to press the matter. She had already somewhat sacrificed her tact to her conscience. “But you, yourself? Are you not coming?” he asked. “No; I think I'll stay in. I feel rather too sorry for that poor little body.” “You had better come. The brightness will cheer you.” “I don't think I should care for it,” she replied, with her hand to her bosom, fingering a dark red rose in her dress.