When Philip and Katherine said good-bye their hands scarcely touched, but they were burning. “I will come to-morrow afternoon,” he whispered. “Yes,” she whispered back to him. * * * * * Through the history of that old Westminster house there ran the thread of many of such moments, now it could not be surprised nor even so greatly stirred, whispering through its passages and corridors. “Here it is again.... Pleasant enough for the time. I wish them luck, poor dears, but I’ve never known it answer. This new breath, out through my rafters, up through my floors, down my chimneys, in at my windows—just the same as it used to be. Very pleasant while it lasts—poor young things.” It was only natural that the House, long practised in the affairs of men, should perceive these movements in advance of the Trenchard family. As to warning the Trenchards, that was not the House’s business. It was certainly owing to no especial virtue of perception that Aunt Aggie decided that she would spend the afternoon of the day following the dinner-party in the drawing-room. This decision was owing to the physical fact that she fancied that she had a slight cold, and the spiritual one that her sister Harriet had said: would she mind being most unselfish: would she stay in and receive callers as she, Harriet, was compelled to attend an unfortunate Committee? There was nothing that Aunt Aggie could have preferred to sitting close to the drawing-room fire, eating muffin if alone, and being gracious were there company. However, Harriet had said that it would be unselfish—therefore unselfish it was. Katherine, it appeared, also intended to stay at home. “You needn’t, my dear,” said Aunt Aggie, “I promised your mother. I had rather looked forward to going to the Misset-Faunders’, but never mind—I promised your mother.” “I’m sure it’s better for your cold that you shouldn’t go out,” said Katherine. “_I_ think you ought to be upstairs—in bed with a hot bottle.” “My cold’s nothing”—Aunt Aggie’s voice was sharp, “Certainly the Misset-Faunders wouldn’t have hurt it. I could have gone in a cab. But I promised your mother.... It’s a pity. They always have music on their second Fridays. Alice plays the violin very well ... and I dare say, after all, no one will come this afternoon. You really needn’t bother to stay in, Katherine.” “I think I will to-day,” said Katherine quietly. So aunt and niece sat, one on each side of the fire, waiting. Katherine was very quiet, and Aunt Aggie, who, like all self-centred people, was alarmed by silence, spun a little web of chatter round and round the room.