“Oh, I think science important!” she protested.

“No, you don’t,” declared Kate; “you only wish you did.  Come, we’ll go to your room.”

It was the rear room on the second floor, and it presented a stern parallelogram occupied by the bare necessaries of a sleeping-apartment.  The walls and rug were gray, the furniture of mahogany.  Mary Morrison looked at it a moment with a slow smile.  Then she tossed her green coat and her hat with its sweeping veil upon the bed.  She flung her camera and her magazines upon the table.  She opened her traveling-bag, and, with hands that almost quivered with impatience, placed upon the toilet-table the silver implements that Honora had sent her and scattered broadcast among them her necklaces and bracelets.

“I’ll have some flowering plants to-morrow,” she told Kate.  “And when my trunks and boxes come, I’ll make the wilderness blossom like a rose.  How have you decorated your room?”

“I haven’t much money,” said Kate bluntly; “but I’ve—­well, I’ve ventured on my own interpretations of what a bed-sitting-room should be.”

Miss Morrison threw her a bright glance.

“I’ll warrant you have,” she said.  “I should think you’d contrive a very original sort of a place.  Thank you so much for looking after me.  I brought along a gown for dinner.  Naturally, I didn’t want to make a dull impression at the outset.  Haven’t I heard that you dine out at some sort of a place where geniuses congregate?”

* * * * *

Years afterward, Kate used to think about the moment when Honora and her cousin met.  Honora had come home, breathless from the laboratory.  It had been a stirring afternoon for her.  She had heard words of significant appreciation spoken to David by the men whom, out of all the world, she would have chosen to have praise him.  She looked at Miss Morrison, who had come trailing down in a cerise evening gown as if she were a bright creature of another species, somewhat, Kate could not help whimsically thinking, as a philosophic beaver might have looked at a bird of paradise.  Then Honora had kissed her cousin.

“Dear blue-eyed Mary!” she had cried.  “Welcome to a dull and busy home.”

“How good of you to take me in,” sighed Miss Morrison.  “I hated to bother you, Honora, but I thought you might keep me out of mischief.”

“Have you been getting into mischief?” Honora asked, still laughing.

“Not quite,” answered her cousin, blushing bewitchingly.  “But I’m always on the verge of it.  It’s the Californian climate, I think.”

“So exuberant!” cried Honora.

“That’s it!” agreed “Blue-eyed Mary.”  “I thought you’d understand.  Here, I’m sure, you’re all busy and good.”

“Some of us are,” agreed Honora.  “There’s my Kate, for example.  She’s one of the most useful persons in town, and she’s just as interesting as she is useful.”