If he expected angry speech of hurt remonstrance because of the too evident implication of the story, he was disappointed, for Katrine raised her eyes to his with sad frankness. "I think it speaks a truth, Dermott," she said. "Sometimes I wonder if there ever was a woman who loved the man who was kindest to her." "It's unrecorded if it ever occurred," he an
swered, moodily, taking another road in the conversation on the instant. "Madame de Nemours wrote me that you are to sing at Josef's recital next month."
"Yes, it is arranged."
"That will mean an opera engagement somewhere, will it not?"
Katrine laughed. "That's as may be. It depends on how I sing."
There was flattery in the answer. "It will mean Covent Garden if it depends on that," Dermott said.
"Thank you," she replied; and in the conventionality of the response she realized anew that the jesting-time was by between them and she had a man to reckon with.
"To-morrow," he said, "Josef has written me that, with your permission, I may hear you sing. Have I that permission, Katrine?"
"You have," she answered, noting the handsome line of the bent head and shoulders.
"To-morrow at two?"