"You mean--"

Grizel waved an imperious hand.

"I do _not_! I mean what I say." She screwed up her little face in an expressive _moue_. "Poof! Who knows more about a man in love--you or I? Who'd be fairer to another girl?--If more books were written in that way, they'd be a vast deal truer to life. We'll show 'em! Katrine, congratulate us; our fortune is made."

Katrine's smile was a trifle forced. Of course it was nonsense to suppose that Grizel would be allowed to invade the sanctuary of Martin's room; nevertheless, knowing as she did the heights of her visitor's audacity, she felt it her duty to adopt an air of dignified reproof.

Martin's work was not a subject for jest, it was a serious affair, with the stages of which his sister was well acquainted. First the stage of restless absent-mindedness, during which it was useless to expect punctuality, or even an appropriately sensible answer to a question; next, a brief period of intoxication when the long-delayed inspiration dawned with a brilliance which promised a glory never before attained; thirdly, the long months of labour and anxiety, in which the early triumph faded to at best a temperate content.

Katrine was never admitted into her brother's confidence about his work.

He had allowed it to be known that he could not suffer questions or remarks; never once in those eight years had she dared to question concerning a heroine's eyes. Through mental storms and sunshine, she had "sat tight," observant but silent, expressing her sympathy, Martha-like, in soups and sauces. It was not for Grizel to obtrude where she, a sister, might not go.

Katrine pushed back her chair, and rose to her feet.

"You are talking nonsense, my dear. Come upstairs! You look tired to death, and your hair is coming down. I'll give you a book, and you can sleep or read until it's time to dress. I'll carry your things." She gathered together the scattered hat, gloves, and bag, and led the way upstairs, Grizel trailing slowly in her wake.

The bedroom was sweet and fresh; after the manner of such rooms in country houses, a bowl of roses stood on a table; through the open window the air blew soft and clean. Grizel looked around with smiling satisfaction; then dropping her impedimenta on the bed, and wheeling round with a swift, unexpected movement, she faced her hostess, and nipped her chin between a thumb and forefinger.

The two faces were close together: for a moment Katrine smiled, unconcerned and amused, but the honey-coloured eyes stared on, stared deep, stared with a long, unblinking intentness which brought the colour rushing to her cheeks. She twitched her head, the small fingers gripped with unexpected tenacity; she frowned and fumed, but the eyes stared relentlessly on. Finally she raised both hands and forced herself free.

"Grizel, what _is_ it? Why are you staring? What in the world has happened?"

"And that, my lamb," returned Grizel calmly, "is just precisely what I am axing myself!"

She turned her back, and strolled nonchalantly across the rooms.

CHAPTER SIX.

When Grizel sailed down to dinner two hours later, it would have been difficult to recognise in her the pallid traveller of the afternoon.

She was gorgeously attired in a robe of golden net covered with an embroidery of the same hue. The golden sheaf clung round her, and trailed heavily on the ground; encased in it her body appeared of an incredible slimness, yet from head to foot there was not one angle, not one harsh, unlovely line. Nymph, elf, fay, she was all rounded curve and dimple, from satin shoulder to arched and tiny feet. Though one might marvel that a human being could live in such wand-like form, _thin_ was a word which could never occur. Grizel was no more thin than Katrine herself. Her soft, mouse-brown hair was waved loosely back, and twisted in a fashion which preserved the shape of the head,--a rare and wonderful sight at a time when nine women out of ten carried a cushion-like appendage standing out many inches behind the ear. Grizel was too wise to disguise herself by any such freak of fashion; an artist would have noted with delight that she invariably respected the natural "line" of the body. Neck and arms were bare of ornament, her cheeks were still pale, but with a warm, cream-like tint which had no trace of ill-health, her honey-coloured eyes reflected the golden lights of her dress. The scarlet lips made the one contrasting note of colour.

Katrine stared blankly at the entrance of the apparition, the inevitable admiration largely tinged with reproach. How ridiculous, and unsuitable, and altogether Grizelish to choose such a dress for a quiet home evening! It was probably the first that had come to her hand, and she had put it on without a thought. When there was a dinner party, and the most important people in the neighbourhood were a.s.sembled to meet her, she would just as likely as not appear in a simple muslin. Katrine had lived through such experiences before, and had suffered much aggravation thereby. She stared with exaggerated surprise, whereupon Grizel gurgled, quick to appreciate the criticism.

"Yes, ma'am. My _very_ best! Ain't I a pr-etty ittle did?"

"It would be very suitable for a Court ball. What possessed you to put it on to-night?"

"I felt like it,--in a golden mood! I always dress to suit my moods.

Besides it's quite new, and the dear thing wanted its turn. It is my Sheba dress, but you aren't nearly so appreciative as Aunt Griselda.

_She_ bowed down before me."

"I'm not going to bow down, but it's a marvellous frock!" Katrine felt a depressing consciousness of the shabby black net which had done duty for home wear for several winters in succession, and woman-like reflected with a pang that the price of that golden sheaf would probably equal that of her entire summer outfit. How would it feel to own a fairy purse, and bid Paquin do his best?

For a moment she was rent with envy, then curiosity claimed its day.

She crossed the room, and peered with awe and admiration at the elaborateness of the dress, the chiffon skirts poised one upon another, which softened the glare of the satin slip, the exquisite design of the embroidery, the rare and varied beads with which it was intermingled.

"Grizel--what gorgeousness! Every bead is a treasure. It must have taken months to work. And on a piece of perishable net. I have _read_ about such things, but I've never seen them... Mrs Brewston would read you a lesson on wanton extravagance--"

"_Decadence_," interrupted Grizel firmly. "You must _always_ call it decadence. And I should perfectly agree. But the poor lambs had embroidered it, so some one _had_ to pay, and Aunt Griselda might as well do it as any one else. I wouldn't have dreamed of _giving_ the order!"

"Humbug! Quibbler!--Is there any possible way of getting into it, or do you wriggle in at the neck? There's nothing of you, my dear, but you are modelled so considerately--plump in the right places! ... The sleeves are a trifle attenuated, don't you think?"

"Perhaps they are, but it's the fault of my arms. They _are_ so pretty!

Look at that ikkle, ikkle dimple... You wouldn't have the heart to hide it!" returned Grizel, shutting one eye so as to peer with the other at the soft, infantile dents above the elbow. In praise or blame she was always markedly honest as regarded her own appearance. Even when Martin made his appearance at the door, and came to the sudden stand as if dazzled by the glittering apparition in the middle of the dark room, Grizel seemed to see no reason for changing her pose, but continued to peer and to crane with undiminished interest.

"I'm showing Katrine a bonnie wee dimple... This side, to the west! I can just peer at it like this, but it's beautiful viewed from the side, I wear my sleeve cut short 'a pupos.' ... This is the dress that the Duck wears, Martin, the night she's engaged. He hadn't intended to speak so soon, but when he saw her in it he couldn't resist--"

"I'm sure he couldn't--!"

Martin's echo came back with what his sister considered a painful ba.n.a.lity. She flinched before it, as at a desecration. When one is accustomed to regard a man as seated on a permanent pinnacle of grief, it is a shock to find him condescending to the ordinary barter of compliment, but Martin was oblivious of her frown, for Grizel had opened her closed eye, and peered upward into his face with her sweet, lazy smile.

He gave her his arm, led her in to dinner, arranged her chair, and groped under the table for a footstool, leaving Katrine to follow, alone and unnoticed. Never in all the years they had lived together had he thought of a footstool for his sister's feet! As there was only one of these articles in common use, she was obliged to do without the ordinary support, and the feeling of discomfort lasted throughout the meal.

The curtains were undrawn, leaving a vista of garden sloping upward to the knoll, the low panelled room was already dim, and the table was lighted by candles in tall silver stands. A bowl of beautifully cut old gla.s.s was piled high with roses, and the meal was dainty and well chosen, for Katrine was on her mettle before Grizel's quizzical eyes.

Martin sat at the head of the table; he had the long thin face, the deep-set eyes, the sensitive lips, which carry the mind instinctively to the days of old. For him a stock and a fob would have seemed more appropriate than twentieth-century attire. His eyes looked particularly dark to-night; he held himself buoyantly erect.

Grizel rested both elbows on the table, and began feeding herself with fragments of bread, before the soup was served.

"Excuse my bad manners. They're _so_ fashionable!" she mumbled in explanation. She attacked her soup with a zest which one would hardly have expected from so fragile a creature, and took little part in the conversation until it was finished. Then once more she rested her elbows on the table, and smiled across at her host.

"And so," she said lazily, "to-morrow is the Duke's bean-feast. It's no end of a way, isn't it? How do we go?"

"Martin has engaged a car. Several neighbours wanted us to share, and it was really quite a blessing to be able to refuse. Last year we went with the Morlands, and they stuck to us like glue to the bitter end.

This time we shall be free."

"We three, and a second man. Who is the second man?"

"We three, and _no_ other man!"

Grizel dropped her hands on to the table, and stared with distended eyes.

"But, my child, how absurd. I'm the most unexacting of critters but I make it a principle, never to share a man! There _must_ be an odd bachelor in the neighbourhood who'd be glad of a lift! A presentable, flirtable creature to make up the four!"

The youthful parlour-maid jerked at the sound of that second adjective, and scurried from the room, soup plates in hand, leaving Katrine to whisper hasty reprisals.

"Grizel, please! Wait until afterwards. It's a young girl I am training. She belongs to the Y.W.C.A."

Grizel's stare changed to a smile.

"I don't object, dear. I really don't. So long as she's pleased, I a.s.sure you I won't let it make _any_ difference!"

"But that's just what I want it to do! Do please be sensible until dinner is over, and for mercy's sake don't talk about flirts. She'll be so shocked."

"Then she'll be the first Y.W. I've ever met who _was_. And I don't believe she will, neither. There's a tilt to her cap--"

The door opened to admit the Y.W., bearing in her hands the fish, and on her face that expression of concentrated vacuity which denotes acute curiosity. Every householder has suffered such moments, and knows by experience the painful pause which ensues before one of the diners bursts vivaciously into impersonalities, but to-day there was no pause.

Grizel was too nimble-witted to permit such discomfiture. There was not the slightest break in the continuity of her speech, her words flowed on in a smooth unbroken stream.