"You? What could you do? Why, you'd fall asleep, or think of something else in the middle, and she might die for all you cared," returned Polly contemptuously. "Can you make a poultice?" Katharine shook her head dumbly, and crept away. Her self-abasement seemed complete. She lay down on her untidy bed, and drew the clothes over her, and gave way to her grief. There did not seem a bright spot in her existence, now that Phyllis was not able to comfort her. She hoped, with a desperate fervour, that she would catch influenza too, and die, so that remorse should consume the hearts of all those who had so cruelly misunderstood her. A hand shook her by the shoulder, not unkindly. "Look here! you must stop that row, or else you will disturb her. What's the good of it? Besides, she isn't as bad as all that either; you can't have seen much illness, I'm thinking." "It isn't that," gasped Katharine truthfully. "At least, not entirely. I was dreadfully unhappy about something else, and I wanted to die; and then, when I found Phyllis was ill, it all seemed so hopeless. I didn't mean to disturb any one; it was dreadfully foolish of me; I haven't cried for years." Polly gave a kind of grunt, and sat down on the bed. It was more or less interesting to have reduced the brilliant Miss Austen to this state of submission. "Got yourself into trouble?" she asked, and refrained from adding that she had expected it all along. Katharine began to cry again. There was so little sympathy, and so much curiosity, in the curt question. But she had reached the point when to confide in some one was an absolute necessity; and there was no one else. "I haven't done anything wrong," she sobbed. "Why should one suffer so awfully, just because one didn't _know_! We were only friends, and it was so pleasant, and I was so happy! It might have gone on for ever, only there was another girl." "Of course," said Polly. "There always is. How did she get hold of him?" Katharine shrank back into herself. "You don't understand," she complained. "He isn't like that at all. He is clever, and refined, and very reserved. He doesn't flirt a bit, or anything of that sort." "Oh, I see," said Polly, with her expressive sniff. "I suppose the other girl thought herself a toff, eh?" "She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen," said Katharine simply. "But I never knew he cared about that. He had views against marriage, he always said; and he wasn't always talking about women, like some men. I did not think he would end in marrying, just like every one else." "More innocent you, then! I always said you ought to have stopped at home; girls like you generally do come the worst cropper. You surely didn't suppose he would go on for ever, and be content merely with your friendship, did you?" "Yes, I did," said Katharine wearily. "Why not? I was content with his." Polly gave vent to a stifled laugh.