"You have grown much prettier, you know--and are more attractive than ever, alas!" "If you are going to talk like that, although you may stay, I shall leave you alone." "No, I am going to be reasonable. Tell me everything, what you have been doing, and reading, and thinking, since I went away?" "I have been doing my work--and reading all the books you gave me--and many others--and thinking about life." "Never once of me, I suppose?" "Yes--you are part of my life--my one friend." He started forward. "Darl----" but he checked himself before the word came quite out, and said instead: "Ah! that is joy to hear! And now I want to know what you thought of Symonds and Pater and the rest?--You will have quantities of things to discuss with me, I am sure." Katherine began taking off her hat and coat, and then put them neatly on the long, hard sofa; she never glanced in the glass or patted her hair--She was boyish in her unconsciousness. Gerard Strobridge watched her, and then suddenly looked away; the insane desire was rising in him again to take her in his arms. So he exerted extra control over himself, and spent the rest of the time in truly friendly converse, in which he assumed the character of stern tutor, examining a promising pupil upon a holiday task performed in his absence. Katherine was enchanted, and when ten minutes to one came, she wished he had not to go. "It has given me so much pleasure to talk to you--I am so glad you have come back." But she held her hands behind her when he would have taken them again, in gladness at her words. "So much touching is undesirable if we are going to remain friends," she told him. "When may I come again?" "You must arrange that." "After tea, just until it is getting dark enough for Martha to be coming to draw the curtains?" "Yes, perhaps." And with this he left comforted. But when he had gone, Katherine Bush went and looked out of the window, and very slowly shook her head in perplexity. "It will certainly hurt him--and what will Her Ladyship say? She may think I am not playing the game." And then she remembered Lord Chesterfield's advice in one of his maxims: When a man of sense happens to be in that disagreeable situation in which he is obliged to ask himself more than once, "What shall I do?"--he will answer himself--"Nothing." When his reason points out to him no good way, or at least no one way less bad than another, he will stop short and wait for light. CHAPTER XX Katherine Bush always looked back upon that Easter party as being the third milestone in her career. It happened that a certain guest wished to try some new songs she was going to sing on Sunday night, and instead of the agreeable gloaming Gerard Strobridge had been looking forward to enjoying with Katherine alone, he was forced by his aunt to take this lady up to the schoolroom after tea and request Miss Bush's services as accompanist.