Katherine read her letter standing on the terrace before the hotel. The dying evening seemed to throb softly in the southern sky, arching solemnly to the horizon line. Katherine looked out at the sea--it was characteristic of her deeply set eyes to look straight out and seldom up. She stood still, holding the letter quietly; Katherine had none of the weakness that seeks an outlet for the stress of resolution in nervous gesture. She did not even walk up and down; indeed the resolution was made and meditation needless. Turning after a moment, she went into the hotel and asked at the office whether Mr. Odd were to be found. "Yes, he was in his room; he had only arrived an hour ago." Katherine requested the man to tell Mr. Odd that Miss Archinard was on the terrace and would like to see him. In two minutes Peter was walking out to meet her. Peter's eyes, as they shook hands, were rather sternly steady; Katherine's steady, but more humorous. "_Sans rancune?_" she inquired, with some lightness, and then, sparing him the necessity for a reply that might be embarrassing for both of them-- "I want to ask you a question; pardon abruptness; why don't you marry Hilda? Won't she? There are two questions!" "I don't marry her because she won't. And there is the evident reply, Katherine." "Do you despair?" she asked. "I can't say that. Time may wear out her resistance." "I know Hilda better than you do--perhaps. You see I have got over my jealousy." Katherine's smile had all its charm. "She won't if she said she wouldn't; if she has ideals on the subject." "Then I must resign myself to hopeless wretchedness." "No; you must not. _I_ am going to help you. Don't look so gloomily unimpressed. I am going to help you. I am going to do penance, and I don't believe you will consider it an expiation either! Just encourage me by a little appreciation of my dubious nobility." Odd looked questioningly at her. "Peter, when I came back that night I was engaged to Allan Hope." "Oh!" said Peter. They looked at one another through the almost palpable dusk of the evening. "I'll give you the facts--draw your own conclusions. I'll give you facts, but don't ask self-abasement put into words. You really haven't the right, have you, Peter?" "No; I suppose not. No, _I_ haven't the right."