"I haven't hurt, have I?" Hilda stood back hastily. "I forgot, I _am_ rather muddy. And, Katherine, you will help one another so much; that makes it so ideal." "Idealistic little Hilda!" "But that is evident, isn't it? You with all your energy and cleverness and general _sanity_, and he so widely sympathetic that he is a bit impersonal. I mean that he doubts himself because he doubts everything rather; he sees how relative everything is; he probably thinks too much; I am sure that is dangerous. You will make him act." "I am to be the concrete to his abstract. He certainly does lack energy. I wonder if even I shall be able to prod him into initiative." Katherine patted down the fine old lace that edged her bodice, and looked a smiling question from her own reflection in the mirror to her sister. "Suppose I fail to arouse him." "You will understand him. He will have something to live for; that is what he needs. He won't be able to say, 'Is it worth while?' about _your_ happiness. As for initiative, you will probably have to have that for both. After all, he has made his name and place. He has the nicest kind of fame; the more apparent sort made up by the admiration of mediocrities isn't half as nice." "Ah, pet, you are an intellectual aristocrat. My _pâte_ is coarser. I like the real thing; the donkey's brayings make a noise, and one must take the whole world with all its donkeys conscious of one, to be famous. I like noise." Katherine smiled as she spoke, and Hilda smiled, too, a little smile of humorous comprehension, for she did not take Katherine in this mood at all seriously. She was as stanch in her belief of Katherine's ideals as she was in sticking to her own. "We will be married in March," said Katherine, pausing before her dressing-table to put on her rings--a fine antique engraved gem and a splendid opal. "You may go, Taylor; and Taylor, you may put out my opera-cloak after dinner. I think, Hilda, I will go to the opera; papa has a box. He and I and Peter might care about dropping in for the last two acts. You don't care to come, do you?" "Well, mamma expects me to read to her; it's a charming book, too," added Hilda, with tactful delicacy. "Well, I shall envy you your quiet evening. I can't ask Peter to spend his here in the bosom of my family. Yes, March, I think, unless I decide on making that round of visits in England; that would put it off for a month. I hope the ravens will fetch me a trousseau--for I don't know who else will." "I shall have quite a lot by that time, Katherine. I haven't heard from the dealer in London yet, but those two pictures will sell, I hope. And, at all events, with the other things, you know, I shall have about a hundred pounds." Katherine flushed a little when Hilda spoke of "other things," and looked round at her sister. "I _hate_ to think of taking the money, Hilda."