“Henry.”
“Then he knows. Who else?”
“None of the family, I think, unless Henry’s told the others. I’ve never said a word.”
“Who told him?”
“A man at his Club.”
There was silence. Then Katherine said:
“So that’s why you’ve been so queer?”
“Yes. I didn’t know whether he’d told you or no. I was afraid to say anything. I thought perhaps he’d told you and it was making you miserable. Then I thought that you ought to know. I thought sometimes that I’d speak to Philip, and then I was afraid of Henry doing something awful, blurting it all out to everybody. I haven’t known what to do. But, Katie darling, you aren’t unhappy about it, are you?”
“No—not unhappy,” said Katherine.
“Because you mustn’t be. What does it matter what Phil did before he loved you, whom he knew? What does it matter so long as you take her place? If ever anybody loved anybody, Philip loves you....” Then she said quickly, eagerly: “What was she like, Katie? Did he tell you? Did he describe her? Was she lovely, clever? What was her name?”