"The
friendship will continue. Viviette loves you dearly."
She took up a peach from a dish to her hand, regarded it for a moment,
absent-mindedly, and delicately replaced it.
"Our friendship will continue, of course. But the particular essence of
it, the little sentimentality of ownership, will be gone, won't it?"
Austin rose and bent over Katherine's chair in some concern. "You're not
distressed, Katherine?"
"Oh, no. You have been such a kind, loyal friend to me during a very
dark and lonely time--brought sunshine into my life when I needed it
most--that I should be a wicked woman if I didn't rejoice at your
happiness. And we have been nothing more than friends."
"Nothing more," said Austin.
She was smiling now, and he caught a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
"And yet there was an afternoon last winter--"
His face coloured. "Don't throw my wickedness in my face. I remember
that afternoon. I came in fagged, with the prospect of dinner at the
club and a dismal evening over a brief in front of me, and found you
sitting before the fire, the picture of rest and comfortableness and
companionship.
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