The quizzical lift of her eyebrows spoke her amused inquiry. She could hardly imagine Hilda allowing herself to be kissed, and as the silence continued, Katherine felt a touch of impatience color her sisterly sympathy. Lord Allan's voice, pitched on a deep note of pain, startled her. There followed quite a burst of ardent eloquence. With a little _moue_ of self-disapproval Katherine bent her ear to the door. She heard Lord Allan quite distinctly. He was pleading in more desperate accents than she could have imagined possible from him, and Katherine caught, too, the half frightened reiteration of Hilda's voice: "I can't, I can't; really I can't. I am so--_so_ sorry, so sorry--" The childishness of this helpless repetition brought a quick frown to Katherine's brow. "Little idiot! Baby!" She straightened herself and stood staring at the gray houses across the way. Then, at renewed silence in the drawing-room, she walked to the mirror and looked at her amethyst-robed reflection. Her eyes lingered on the contour of her waist, the supple elegance of the line that fell gleaming from her hip. She met the half-shamed, half-daring glance of her deeply set eyes. The silence continued, and Katherine walked out through the entrance and into the drawing-room. Hilda was sitting upright on a tall chair, looking at the floor with an expression of painful endurance, and Lord Allan stood looking at her. He turned his eyes almost unseeingly on Katherine and remained silent, while Hilda rose and put out her hand to him. Hilda had no variety of metaphor; "I am so sorry," she repeated. She left her hand in his for one moment and then passed swiftly out of the room. Katherine was left facing the unfortunate lover. Katherine showed great tact. "Lord Allan, don't mind me. Sit down for a moment. Perhaps then you may be able to tell me. Perhaps I can help you." "No good, Miss Archinard; it's all up with me." Her gentle voice evidently turned aside the current of his frank despair. Instead of rushing out, he dropped on the sofa and looked at the carpet over his locked hands. "I am not going to talk to you for a little while." The lamps were lighted and the tea-things all in readiness on the little table. Katherine lit the kettle and turned a log on the fire. Lord Allan's silence implied a dull acquiescence. He did not move until Katherine came and sat down on the chair beside him. "_I_ am so sorry, too," she said, with a sad little smile. "Lord Allan, I thought she cared for you." "I hoped so." "And have you no more hope?" "None--absolutely none. I tell you it's rough on a fellow, Miss Archinard. I--I _adore_ that child." "Poor Lord Allan," Katherine gently breathed. She stretched out her slim hand and laid it almost tenderly on his. Katherine was rather surprised at herself, and to herself her motives were rather confused. "I should have liked you as a brother, Lord Allan."