"I guess I'll go and get my coat on, Bill," said the little man heavily.

"They're starting to come now. I see a machine about a mile down the

road."

Sidney broke the news of her engagement to K. herself, the evening of the

same day. The little house was quiet when she got out of the car at the

door. Harriet was asleep on the couch at the foot of her bed, and

Christine's rooms were empty. She found Katie on the back porch, mountains

of Sunday newspapers piled around her.

"I'd about give you up," said Katie. "I was thinking, rather than see your

ice-cream that's left from dinner melt and go to waste, I'd take it around

to the Rosenfelds."

"Please take it to them. I'd really rather they had it."

She stood in front of Katie, drawing off her gloves.

"Aunt Harriet's asleep. Is--is Mr. Le Moyne around?"

"You're gettin' prettier every day, Miss Sidney. Is that the blue suit

Miss Harriet said she made for you? It's right stylish. I'd like to see

the back."

Sidney obediently turned, and Katie admired.

"When I think how things have turned out!" she reflected. "You in a

hospital, doing God knows what for all sorts of people, and Miss Harriet

making a suit like that and asking a hundred dollars for it, and that tony

that a person doesn't dare to speak to her when she's in the dining-room.

And your poor ma...well, it's all in a lifetime! No; Mr. K.'s not here.

He and Mrs. Howe are gallivanting around together."

"Katie!"

"Well, that's what I call it. I'm not blind. Don't I hear her dressing up

about four o'clock every afternoon, and, when she's all ready, sittin' in

the parlor with the door open, and a book on her knee, as if she'd been

reading all afternoon? If he doesn't stop, she's at the foot of the

stairs, calling up to him. 'K.,' she says, 'K., I'm waiting to ask you

something!' or, 'K., wouldn't you like a cup of tea?' She's always feedin'

him tea and cake, so that when he comes to table he won't eat honest

victuals."

Sidney had paused with one glove half off. Katie's tone carried

conviction. Was life making another of its queer errors, and were

Christine and K. in love with each other? K. had always been HER friend,

HER confidant. To give him up to Christine--she shook herself impatiently.

What had come over her? Why not be glad that he had some sort of

companionship?




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