“Katrine Beverley.
“PS.—Please go on about ‘The girl you would fancy’ ... I have a fancy to hear!”
Chapter Ten.
It was a week after the garden party. A persistent rain was drenching the trees in the garden, and turning the gravel path into miniature torrents. The atmosphere in the low, panelled rooms was damp and chilly. Katrine, in a flannel shirt of her favourite rich blue, was busy with account books at the centre table. Grizel, in a white gown, and a red nose, was miserably rubbing her hands together, and drumming her small feet on the floor.
“Katrine!”
“Yes.”
“I’m cold.”
Katrine glanced over the rim of the grocer’s book.