She veered round upon him a moment later, as if, when her train of thought was ended, she became aware of his presence.
“ Have you finished your letter?” she asked. He thought he heard faint amusement in her tone, but not a trace of jealousy.
“ No, I’m not going to write any more to-night,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for it for some reason. I can’t say what I want to say.”
“ Cassandra won’t know if it’s well written or badly written,” Katharine remarked.
“ I’m not so sure about that. I should say she has a good deal of literary feeling.”
“ Perhaps,” said Katharine indifferently. “You’ve been neglecting my education lately, by the way. I wish you’d read something. Let me choose a book.” So speaking, she went across to his bookshelves and began looking in a desultory way among h
