"She is a regular dowdy, anyway," Gladys remarked. "One of those--we have a bunch of them--that wants the things, and yet with their own touch on them, spoiling the style. They come together generally, and do make a lot of fuss over each other--calling 'darlings' and 'precious' all the time--fit to make me and the girls die laughing with their nonsense." "What is she like--good-looking?" Katherine asked. She only questioned when she wanted specific information, never idly, and it was as well to know everything about her possible new employer's family. "She would not be bad if she did not stoop so. She hasn't got 'the walk' neither, no more than the 'look'; sometimes she's all right--at least, the things are all right when they go home, but she adds bits herself afterwards, and spoils them." Here Matilda interrupted. "Anyway, she is one of the ladies you'll see in your new place, Kitten. I'd certainly have that same dress, it will just show them you are as good as they, if you have an Ermantine model." But Katherine thought differently. She agreed she would have something in the same subdued style as Lady Beatrice would have chosen, but not the actual copy, and after settling details the other two sisters left her for bed. When they had gone, she sat by the fire and looked deeply into it, while she thought for a few moments. Then she drew a letter from her blouse and reread it. It was from Lord Algy. A sweet little love epistle. Just to tell her he could not possibly wait for the whole month before seeing her--and was coming up to town the following week--and would not she lunch with him at the old place--and perhaps stay with him again at the Great Terminus? It ended with protestations of passionate devotion. No--never again--she had tasted of the cup of bliss, and Fate was asking her to pay no price. She must have courage now to renounce all further pleasure. Once was an experience, twice would be weakness--which could grow into a habit--and thence lead to an abyss which she shuddered to think of. Katherine Bush had never read Théophile Gautier's masterpiece--but there was something in her character, as Lord Algy had remarked, which resembled _Mademoiselle de Maupin's_. She went to her little writing-case and got out a sheet of paper, and then, in her firm round hand which looked like a man's, she wrote him these few lines: _Dear Algy_, I want you to forget all about me--I loved our little trip, but I am never going on another. I shall have left Liv and Dev's before you get back, and you won't see me again. With best love always. K. B. She folded it, put it in the envelope--addressed it and stamped it--then she put it ready to post in the morning. Her face was white and set. It takes a strong will to renounce tangible present happiness, however profound the beliefs in the future may be. CHAPTER IV