Meanwhile Katherine went home and thought--thought till her brows ached, and until she had sounded the very depths of her reasoning powers. The burden of her thoughts was much the same as his--that Dick had not lost his old influence. The next day found her still thinking, yet uncommonly active and busy. Indeed, it was quite the busiest, most breathless day of her life. Time went rushingly, and when nine o’clock chimed from the cathedral clock in the library she was still busy. Dick was prompt. His eagerness manifested itself in his simultaneous ring at the bell with the chiming of the clock. Katherine, in a brilliant evening gown, with some long-stemmed roses on her breast, heard the ring and started up with an excited flush. Dick hurried in, groomed and perfect. He did not stop for conventionalities of greeting, but let all the high pressure under which he was laboring appear in his eloquent eyes. He had brought her violets, but he dropped them from his fingers, and held out his arms with entreaty. “Soul of my soul,” he cried, “there are to be no more separations! You belong to me, and you cannot live without me any more than I can without you. Last night proved that, and that I have not lost your love. I have come back, and you are never going to be cruel again.” But to his astonishment Katherine did not yield to the arms that begged, did not pale to marble as she had the night before when he had brought the same influence to bear. Instead, she stood off, without a sign of weakening, and smiled as conventionally as she would to the merest chance visitor. The sight maddened him, and he sprang forward to take her by force. But Katherine held off with a strange new imperiousness that was not to be trifled with. “You came for your answer this evening, Dick, and I have it ready for you--the answer that will determine the future for us both beyond a question;” then she held herself a little straighter and spoke distinctly: “I was married to Willis Shaw at three this afternoon.” DRAMATIC FLASHES FROM LONDON & PARIS _By_ ALAN DALE [Illustration] Some plays in Paris. “Ces Messieurs” at the Gymnase, once prohibited by the Minister of Public Instruction, is unsatisfactory, but well acted. Little theaters, like the Berkeley Lyceum, immensely popular in Paris. In London one feels more at home because the dramatic atmosphere seems more wholesome. Alfred Sutro’s play at the Garrick, “The Walls of Jericho,” the most successful of the season. Other plays and some players