She was still whistling herself back to familiar things as she ran lightly up the stairs; had warmed to a long final trill as she stood in the doorway.  The girl looked up in amazement.  She had been sitting there, elbows on her knees, face in her hands.  It was hard to see what might have been seen in her face because at that moment the chief thing seen was astonishment.  Katie slipped down among the pillows of the couch, an arm curled about her head.  “Didn’t know I could do that, did you?” she laughed.  “Oh yes, I have several accomplishments.  Whistling is perhaps the chiefest thereof.  Then next I think would come golf.  My game’s not bad.  Then there are a few wizardy things I do with a chafing dish, and lastly, and after all lastly should be firstly, is my genius for getting everything and everybody into a most hopeless mess.”

The girl moved impatiently at first, as if determined not to be evaded by that light mood, but sight of Katie, lying there so much as a child would lie, seemed to suggest how truly Katie might have spoken and she was betrayed into the shadow of a smile.

“I suppose there has never been a human being as gifted in balling things up as I am,” meditatively boasted Kate.

“Now here you are,” she continued plaintively.  “You want to go away.  Well, of course, that’s your affair.  Why should you have to stay here—­if you don’t want to?  But in the twenty-four hours you’ve been here I presume I’ve told twenty-four unnecessary lies to my brother.  And if you do go away—­as I admit you have a perfect right to do—­it will put me in such a compromising position, because of those deathless lies that will trail me round through life that—­oh, well,” she concluded petulantly, “I suppose I’ll just have to go away too.”

But the girl put it resolutely from her.  A wave of sternness swept her face as she said, with a certain dignity that made Katie draw herself to a position more adapted to the contemplation of serious things:  “That’s all very well.  Your pretending—­trying to pretend—­that I would be doing you a favor in staying.  It is so—­so clever.  I mean so cleverly kind.  But I can’t help seeing through it, and I’m not going to accept hospitality I’ve no right to—­stay here under false pretenses—­pretend to be what I’m not—­why what I couldn’t even pretend to be!” she concluded with bitterness.

Katie was leaning forward, all keen interest.  “But do you know, I think you could.  I honestly believe we could put it through!  And don’t you see that it would be the most fascinating—­altogether jolliest sort of thing for us to try?  It would be a game—­a lark—­the very best kind of sport!”

She saw in an instant that she had wounded her.  “I’m sorry; I would like very much to do something for you after all this.  But I am afraid this is sport I cannot furnish you.  I am not—­I’m not feeling just like—­a lark.”

“Now do you see?” Kate demanded with turbulent gesture.  “Talk about balling things up!  I like you; I want you to stay; and when I come in here and try and induce you to stay what do I do but muddle things so that you’ll probably walk right out of the house!  Why was I born like that?” she demanded in righteous resentment.