“We’ll take it anyhow, whether it’s really a chance or not. Good-bye—dear—dear—”
He pressed her hand as he spoke, and his voice was tender and rang true, but it had not that quaver of emotion in it which had so touched Katharine on that one evening, and which she longed to hear again; and Ralston missed the wave of what had seemed like deep feeling, and wished it would come back. His nerves were perfectly steady now, though he had been late at his club on the previous evening, and had not slept much.
“I’ll write you a note this afternoon,” he said, “as soon as I’ve arranged with the clergyman. If it has to be very early, you must find some excuse for going out of the house. Of course, I’ll manage it as conveniently as I can for you.”
“Oh, there’ll be no trouble about my going out,” answered Katharine. “Nobody ever asks me where I’m going in the morning. You’ll let me have the note as soon as you can, won’t you?”
“Of course. Before dinner, at all events. Good-bye again, dear.”
“Good-bye—until to-morrow.”
She added the last two words very softly. Then she nodded affectionately and went up the steps. As she turned, after ringing the bell, she saw him walking away. Then he also turned, instinctively, and waved his hat once, and smiled, and was gone. Fletcher opened the door, and Katharine went in.
“How is Mr. Crowdie to-day—is he painting?” she asked of the servant.
“Yes, Miss Katharine, Mr. Crowdie’s very well, and he left word that he expected you at eleven, Miss.”
“Yes, I know—I’m late.”