And Mme. Popea, seeing that Katherine was not to be surprised into any admission, lingered a moment idly, and then took her departure. Katherine, who read through Mme. Popea, smiled to herself somewhat sadly. But her visitor's announcement regarding the old professor gave her subject for reflection. If his father grew worse, Raine would have to return at once. For a moment she half wished he would delay his coming. Her heart throbbed painfully in anticipation of what lay before her. The announcement was true. The old man had taken a severe chill. The doctor had just spoken rather alarmingly to Felicia. She determined that Raine should be summoned. “You must let me send a telegram to Chamonix,” she said, standing by the bedside, while the old man drank his tisane. “It would cheer you to see him, wouldn't it?” The old man shook his head. “Not yet.” “Why?” “It would be such a pity. He is enjoying himself.” “I should think he would not be sorry to come back,” said Felicia. An unwonted sub-acidity in her tone surprised him. He paused, with the cup at his lips, his eyes luminous. Her glance fell beneath his, and she coloured. “I don't think he went away to enjoy himself,” she said, giving expression to vague conjectures that had been taking shape in her mind the last few days. “Besides, his friends have left him in the lurch--not their fault--unhappily--but still he is alone. He would be glad to come back if you sent for him.” The old man was perplexed. He was also weakened by his attack of cold. “Do you think that I sent him away, Felicia?” he asked. Felicia was feminine enough to perceive his admission. She was sure of her guess now. Katherine was at the bottom of the matter. The proceedings, however, struck her as particularly futile. As they were, actually, on the real grounds. She took the empty cup from his hands, smoothed his pillow deftly, and as he laid his head back, she bent over him and whispered,-- “He went away to please you--and he will return to please you. Let me telegraph to him.” “But you--my dear child--how could you bear--?” “I?” asked Felicia in surprise. “What have I to do with it?” “Oh, Mr. Chetwynd!” she added after a moment's silence. “You must not remember any foolish things I told you once--I think I must have been a child then. I am ashamed of them now. I have grown older,”--she struggled bravely--“and I have got over those silly feelings. I would not wish to be anything more than friends--ever--so it would make no difference to me, if he were here--except as a friend.” The old man reached out his thin hand, took hers, and laid it against his cheek. “Then there was no need at all of his going away, since you knew?” Felicia gave a little involuntary cry, and twitched her hand, as the revelation burst upon her. The blood flooded her cheeks and sang in her ears. The former shame was nothing to this new one. “He went away because he saw that I cared for him?” she asked chokingly.