Millie, watching them, wondered at herself. What had happened to her? She had returned from Paris, eager to find herself as securely inside the family as she had always been—longing after the wide, vague horizons of the outside world to feel that security. She had laughed at them a little, perhaps, but she had always understood and approved of their motives. Now she found herself at every turn criticising, wondering, defending against her own intelligence, as though she had been the merest stranger. She loved them—all of them—but—how strange they were! And how terrible of her that she should find them strange! They were utterly unaware of any alteration in her; she seemed to herself to be a spy in their midst.... Happily, however, they were all, this afternoon, most comfortably unaware of any criticism from anyone in the world. They sat about the room, waiting for their tea and saying very little. They knew one another so well that conversation was a mere emphasis of platitudes. Aunt Aggie talked, but nobody listened, unless one of the above-mentioned assurances were demanded. Her dry, sharp little voice, like the fire and the ticking of the clock, made an agreeable background. Upon this innocent gathering, so happy and tranquil, Henry burst with his news. He came with all the excited vehemence sprung from his own vision of the lovers. He could see only that; he did not realise that the others had not shared his experience. It was almost as though he had tumbled into the middle of them, so abrupt, so agitated, so incoherent was he! “They’re engaged!” he burst out. “My dear Henry!” said Millie. “What’s the matter?” “I tell you! Katherine and Mark. They’ve been into father, and he says they’re to wait a year, but it’s all right. He says that he didn’t know till they told him. Katherine’s with Mother now,—Mark’s coming in to-night; Katherine!” He broke off, words failed him, and he was suddenly conscious of his Uncle’s eye. “What?” said Aunt Aggie. “They’re engaged,” repeated Henry. “Whom?” cried Aunt Aggie, ungrammatically, with a shrill horror that showed that she had already heard. “Katie and Philip,” Henry almost screamed in reply. What Aunt Aggie, whose eyes were staring as though she saw ghosts or a man under her bed, would have said to this no one could say, but Aunt Sarah drove, like a four-wheeled coach, right across her protruding body. Aunt Sarah said: “What are you all talking about? What’s the matter with Henry? Is he ill? I can’t hear.” Millie went up to her. “Katherine’s engaged, Aunt Sarah, to Mr. Mark.” “What do you say about Katherine?” “She’s engaged.” “She’s what?” “ENGAGED!” “Who to?” “Mr. Mark.” “Eh? What?” “Mark!”