“Now, how,” cried Aunt Betty, “did they get there? Very odd, because I remember distinctly that I never moved from my corner.”
“Well,” said George Trenchard, who, now that his back was warmed by the fire, wanted his front warmed too, “how much longer are we to wait for dinner? Katie and Philip. Playing about upstairs, I suppose.”
Quarter-past eight struck, and Rocket, opening the door, announced that dinner was ready.
“Suppose you just go up and see what Katie’s doing, Millie dear,” said Mrs. Trenchard.
Millie left them and ran quickly upstairs. She pushed back Katie’s door, then, stepping inside, the darkness and silence and a strange murmurous chill caught her, as though someone had leapt, out of the dusk, at her throat. She knew then instantly what had occurred. She only said once, very softly, “Katie!” then gently closed the door behind her, as though she did not want anyone else to see the room.
She stayed there; there, beside the door, for quite a long time. The room was very dark, but the looking-glass glimmered like a white, flickering shadow blown by the wet wind that came in through the open window. Something flapped monotonously.
Millie, standing quite motionless by the door, thought to herself “Katherine and Philip! They’ve done it!... at last, they’ve done it!” At first, because she was very young and still believed in freedom and adventure as the things best worth having in life, she felt nothing but a glad, triumphant excitement; an excitement springing not only from her pleasure in any brave movement, but also from her reassurance in her beloved sister, her knowledge that after all Katherine did believe in Love beyond every other power, was ready to venture all for it. Her own impulse was to run after them, as fast as she could, and declare her fidelity to them.
At last she moved away from the door to the dressing-table and lit a candle. Its soft white flame for a moment blinded her. She had an instant of hesitation; perhaps after all she had flown too rapidly to her desired conclusions, the two of them were waiting now in the drawing-room for her.... Then she saw Katherine’s note propped against the looking-glass.
She took it up, saw that it was addressed to her mother, and realised, for the first time, what this would mean to them all. She saw then—THE OLD ONES—Grandfather, Mother, Father, Aunt Sarah, Aunt Aggie, Aunt Betty. She was sorry for them, but she knew, as she stood there, that she did not care, really, whether they were hurt or no. She felt her own freedom descend upon her, there in Katie’s room, like a golden, flaming cloud. This was the moment for which, all her life, she had been waiting. The Old Ones had tried to keep them and tie them down, but the day of the Old Ones was past, their power was broken. It was the New Generation that mattered—Katherine and Philip, Millie and Henry, and all their kind; it was their world and their dominion—
She suddenly, alone there, with the note in her hand, danced a little dance, the candle-flame flickering in the breeze and Katherine’s white, neat bed so cold and tidy.