It was not much after eight, but the storm was still gathering, and there was only just enough daylight left to show the figure of a girl on the balcony. It was Marion, beyond any doubt Marion, who was leaning forward and looking down into the street as though she expected to see some one come out of the house. The front door opened, and a man came down the steps; he looked up and raised his hat, and lingered; and Marion glanced hastily around, kissed her fingers to him, and vanished indoors. The man walked away down the street with a leisurely step, and Katharine stepped back into the shadow of the portico. But her caution was quite unnecessary, for neither of them had noticed her. For the second time that evening Katharine knocked gently at the door of Paul's chambers in the Temple. This time, he opened to her himself. "Good heavens!" he was startled into exclaiming. "What in the name of wonder has brought you here at this time of night? It is to be hoped you didn't meet any one on the stairs, did you?" He motioned her in as he spoke, and shut the door. Katharine walked past him in a half-dazed kind of way. There had been only two feelings expressed in his face, and one was surprise, and the other annoyance. "What is it, Katharine? Has anything gone wrong?" he demanded in his low, masterful tone. Katharine turned cold; she had never realised before how pitilessly masterful his tone was. "I couldn't help coming,--I was so miserable! They were all saying things about you, things that were not true. And I wanted to hear you say they were not true. I couldn't rest; so I came. Are you angry with me for coming, Paul?" She faltered out the words, without looking at him. Paul shrugged his shoulders, but she did not see the movement. "It was hardly worth while, was it, to risk your reputation merely to confirm what you had already settled in your own mind?" She opened her eyes, and stared at him hopelessly. Paul walked away to look for some cigarette papers in the pocket of a coat. "Was it?" he repeated, with his back turned to her. Katharine struggled to answer him. "You have never spoken to me like that, before," she stammered at last. "You have never given me any cause, have you?" said Paul, rather awkwardly. "But what have I done?" she asked, taking a step towards him. "I didn't know you would mind. I always come to you when I am unhappy; you told me I might. And I was unhappy this evening; so I came. Why should it be different this evening? I don't understand what you mean. Why are you angry with me? You have never been angry before. What have I done?" "My dear child, there is no occasion for heroics," said Paul, speaking very gently. "I am not angry with you at all. But you must own that it is at least unusual to call upon a man, uninvited, at this unearthly hour. And hadn't you better sit down, now you have come?" Katharine did not move.