“Katy—darling—if you only knew, all this time, how I’ve longed for you. Sometimes I thought ‘I _must_—I _must_—see her’—that’s you. I’d run away—I’d do anything. I don’t think anything matters now that I’ve got you again—_and_ I’ve so much to tell you!” They sat down on the bed, Millie vibrating with the excitement of her wonderful experiences, Katherine quiet, but with one hand pressing Millie’s and her eyes staring into distance. Suddenly Millie stopped. “Katie, dear, who’s this man?” “What man?” “The nice-looking man I saw downstairs.” “Oh, he’s a Mr. Mark. Son of a great friend of father’s. He’s lived in Russia—Moscow—for years. He came in by mistake one night in a fog and found that ours was the house he was coming to next day—then Father asked him to stay—” “Do you like him?” “Yes. He’s very nice.” “He looks nice.” Milly went on again with her reminiscences. Katherine, saying only a word now and then, listened. Then, exactly as though she had caught some unexpected sound, Milly broke off again. “Katy—Katy.” “Yes.” “You’re different, something’s happened to you.” “My dear!—nothing, of course.” “Yes, something has.—Something ... Katy!” And here Milly flung her arms again about her sister and stared into her eyes. “You’re in love with someone.” But Katherine laughed. “That’s Paris, Milly dear—Paris—Paris.” “It isn’t. It isn’t. It’s _you_. There is someone. Katy, darling, tell me—you’ve always told me everything: who is he? tell me.” Katherine drew herself away from Milly’s embrace, then turned round, looking at her sister. Then she caught her and kissed her with a sudden urgent passion. “There’s no one, of course there’s no one. I’m the old maid of the family. You know we, long ago, decided that. I’m not ...” she broke off, laughed, got up from the bed. She looked at Milly as though she were setting, subduing some thoughts in her mind. “I’m just the same, Milly. _You’re_ different, of course.” At a sudden sound both the girls looked up. Their mother stood in the doorway, with her placidity, her mild affection; she looked about the room. “I had to come, my dears, to see how you were getting on.” She moved forward slowly towards them. CHAPTER IV THE FOREST Part of a letter that Philip Mark wrote to his friend:— “... I couldn’t stay any longer. They’d had me there a fortnight and then one of the daughters came home from being ‘finished’ in Paris, so that they’ve really no room for strangers. I’ve moved here—not very far away—three furnished rooms in an upper part in a small street off Victoria Street. It’s quiet with an amazing quietness considering its closeness to all the rattle. The Roman Catholic Cathedral is just round the corner—hideous to look at, but it’s nice inside. There’s a low little pub. opposite that reminds me comfortably of one of our beloved ‘Trakteer’—you see I’m sentimental about Moscow already—more so every day.