"Oh, _clothes_! I was not thinking of clothes," Katrine pushed back her plate, and fidgeted impatiently with her cup and saucer. "Of course it is your house. If you wish--" A fragment of toast broke off sharply at a twist from Martin's fingers. There was a moment of strained silence, then he said suavely:-- "Let us say then that I do _not_ wish! It's too hot to argue--and even if the house is--ostensibly--mine, I have no wish to force your own friends upon you. You don't want Grizel. Very well! There is no more to be said. I'll have some more coffee. It's particularly good this morning. This new woman of yours makes it better than the last. What are you going to be about to-day?" "Oh nothing! The usual thing. Pottering around." As Katrine filled up the cup she reflected that it would be easier to deal with Martin if he would let himself go occasionally, and say what he meant. These self-contained people made one feel such a brute, and exacted so heavy a penitence for a slight offence! She ought not to have made that remark about "your house," it had been intended to annoy, and it _had_ annoyed. The vigorous snap of those strong fingers had not passed unnoticed, but Martin had controlled himself, and poured coals of fire on her head; she had been not only forgiven, but besought to take her own way, had received into the bargain a sop to her housekeeping pride. A right down good scolding would have been less difficult to bear! "Oh, the coffee! It's not the making. I paid sixpence more. The grocer's bill will be bigger than ever this week," she declared perversely. To herself she was saying irritably: "I will _not_ be stroked down! Why should Grizel come? It wouldn't be half so much fun. I should be obliged to stay with her, and introduce her to every one who came up, and come home when _she_ liked.--I go out so seldom that on a special occasion like this, I want to consider _myself_! She'll never expect--" "Your other letter is from the faithful Dorothy, I suppose?" "Yes." Katrine's hand instinctively covered the grey envelope, her glance softening to a smile. "She never misses. It is not once in a year that I have a blank mail." "What on earth does she find to say?" Martin Beverley's voice betrayed a decided impatience. Now that the subject was impersonal he had evidently relaxed his guard. "You must have heard all there is to hear about her surroundings, years ago, and there can be precious few happenings in life out there. Of course in your case it is different!"