“Well ...” said Millie, hesitating, then, half turning, “I must go back to Aunt Betty—I’m helping her with the things.” “No. Don’t go.” Katherine, who was staring in front of her now into the black well of a garden, lit by the quivering, shaking light, put out her hand and touched Millie’s sleeve. Millie stood there, awkwardly, her white cotton dress shining against the darkness, her eyes uncertain and a little timid. “I ought to go, Katie dear.... Aunt Betty—” “Aunt Betty can wait. Millie, what’s the matter?” “What’s the matter?” “Yes, between us. For a long time it’s been—and worse since Philip went away.” “Nothing,” said Millie, slowly, then, quite suddenly, with one of those movements so characteristic of her, she flung herself on to her knees, caught Katherine’s hands, then stretched forward and pulled Katherine’s head down to hers—then kissed her again and again. The two sisters held one another in a close embrace, cheek against cheek, breast to breast. So they stayed for some time. At last Millie slid down on to the floor and rested there, her head, with all its fair hair ruffled and disordered, on Katherine’s lap. “Well ...” said Katherine at last, her head against her sister’s cheek. “Why, all this time, have you been so queer? Is it because you hate Philip?” “No, I like him.” “Is it because you hate me?” “No, I love _you_.” “Is it because you hate my marrying Philip?” “No—if you’d do it at once.” “Do it at once?” “Yes—now—go up to London—Marry him to-morrow—” “My _dear_ Millie!... our year isn’t up—nearly.” “What does it matter about your year? Better to break your year than to have us all at one another’s throats—miserable. And then perhaps after all to lose Philip.” “Lose Philip?” “Yes. He’ll go back to Russia.” The words flashed before Katherine’s eyes like lightning through the garden. Her heart gave a furious jump and then stopped. “Why do you think he’d do that?” she asked at last. “Do you think he doesn’t love me?”