ONE October day Hilda received a queer little note from Katherine. That Katherine had spent a month in Scotland and was now on a yacht with a party of friends, Hilda knew, and the note was dated from Amalfi.

“Why don’t you marry Peter, you little goose?” was all it said.

Hilda trembled as she read. Katherine’s scorn and Katherine’s nobility seemed to breathe from it.

“I am not as base as you think,” was her answer.

Katherine received this answer in Amalfi. She had come in from a walk with Allan Hope along the road that runs above the sea between Amalfi and Sorrento, and one of the yachting party, a girl who much admired Katherine, was waiting for her before the hotel holding the letter, an excuse for the excited whisper with which she gave it to her.

“Dear Miss Archinard, he is here!”

“What ‘he,’ Nelly?” asked Katherine; she looked down at the writing on the envelope of her letter, and the becoming flush that her walk through the warm evening had brought to her cheeks faded a little.

Allan Hope had gone on into the hotel, and Nelly’s excited eyes followed him till he was safely out of sight.

“Mr. Odd,” she said with dramatic emphasis. “Of course he didn’t know.”

“Oh, he is here!” Katherine’s eyes were still on the writing. “No, of course he didn’t know.”

“You aren’t afraid of his meeting Allan?” Nelly was Allan Hope’s cousin. “Is there no danger, Miss Archinard? He must be feeling so—dreadfully!”

“What a romantic little pate it is! I really believe you were looking forward to a duel. No, no, Nelly, there is nothing of an exciting nature to hope for!”

“But won’t it be terrible for you to meet him? The first time, you know! And engaged to Allan!” said Nelly.

“We are not at all afraid of one another. Don’t tremble, Nelly.”

Katherine read her letter standing on the terrace before the hotel. The dying evening seemed to throb softly in the southern sky, arching solemnly to the horizon line. Katherine looked out at the sea—it was characteristic of her deeply set eyes to look straight out and seldom up. She stood still, holding the letter quietly; Katherine had none of the weakness that seeks an outlet for the stress of resolution in nervous gesture. She did not even walk up and down; indeed the resolution was made and meditation needless. Turning after a moment, she went into the hotel and asked at the office whether Mr. Odd were to be found.

“Yes, he was in his room; he had only arrived an hour ago.”

Katherine requested the man to tell Mr. Odd that Miss Archinard was on the terrace and would like to see him. In two minutes Peter was walking out to meet her.

Peter’s eyes, as they shook hands, were rather sternly steady; Katherine’s steady, but more humorous.

“Sans rancune?” she inquired, with some lightness, and then, sparing him the necessity for a reply that might be embarrassing for both of them—

“I want to ask you a question; pardon abruptness; why don’t you marry Hilda? Won’t she? There are two questions!”

“I don’t marry her because she won’t. And there is the evident reply, Katherine.”

“Do you despair?” she asked.

“I can’t say that. Time may wear out her resistance.”

“I know Hilda better than you do—perhaps. You see I have got over my jealousy.” Katherine’s smile had all its charm. “She won’t if she said she wouldn’t; if she has ideals on the subject.”

“Then I must resign myself to hopeless wretchedness.”

“No; you must not. I am going to help you. Don’t look so gloomily unimpressed. I am going to help you. I am going to do penance, and I don’t believe you will consider it an expiation either! Just encourage me by a little appreciation of my dubious nobility.” Odd looked questioningly at her.

“Peter, when I came back that night I was engaged to Allan Hope.”

“Oh!” said Peter. They looked at one another through the almost palpable dusk of the evening.

“I’ll give you the facts—draw your own ............