If she had met John at that moment, on the stairs, she would very probably have put out her hand quite naturally, and would have greeted him with a smile, before the reality of all that had happened could come back to her. Many of us have dreamed that those dearest to us have done us some cruel and bitter wrong, struck us, insulted us, trampled on our life-long devotion to them; and in the morning, awaking, we have met them, and smiled, and loved them just the same. For it was only a dream. And there are those who have known the reality; who, after much time, have very suddenly found out that they have been betrayed and wickedly deceived, and used ill, by their most dear--and who, in the first moment, have met them, and smiled, and loved them just the same. For it was only a dream, they thought indeed. And then comes the waking, which is as though one fell asleep upon his beloved’s bosom and awoke among thorns, and having a crown of thorns about his brows--very hard to bear without crying aloud. Katharine pressed the polished banister of the staircase with her hand, and with the other she found the point of the little gold pin she wore at her throat and made it prick her a little. It was a foolish idea and a childish thought. She knew that she was not really dreaming, and yet, as though she might have been, she wanted a physical sensation to assure her that she was awake. Griggs was close behind her. Crowdie had stopped a moment to pull the cord of a curtain which covered the skylight of the staircase. “I wonder where real things end, and dreams begin!” said Katharine, half turning her head, and then immediately looking before her again. “At every minute of every hour,” answered Griggs, as quickly as though the thought had been in his own mind. From higher up came Crowdie’s golden voice, singing very softly to himself. He had heard the question and the answer. “‘La vie est un songe,’” he sang, and then, breaking off suddenly, laughed a little and began to descend. At the first note, Katharine stood still and turned her face upwards. Griggs stopped, too, and looked down at her. Even after Crowdie had laughed Katharine did not move. “I wish you’d go on, Mr. Crowdie!” she cried, speaking so that he could hear her. “Griggs is anxious for the Blue Points,” he answered, coming down. “Besides, he hates music, and makes no secret of the fact.” “Is it true? Do you really hate music?” asked Katharine, turning and beginning to descend again. “Quite true,” answered Griggs, quietly. “I detest it. Crowdie’s a nuisance with his perpetual yapping.” Crowdie laughed good naturedly, and Katharine said nothing. As they reached the lower landing she turned and paused an instant, so that Griggs came beside her. “Did you always hate music?” she asked, looking up into his weather-beaten face with some curiosity. “Hm!” Griggs uttered a doubtful sound. “It’s a long time since I heard any that pleased me, at all events.”