For a moment the girl gazed at it curiously.  Then, on deliberate impulse, she filled another glass.

“One thing is certain,” she said to herself; “if I am capable of controlling myself at all, I must begin now.  If I should touch this it would be excess....  I would like to, but”—­she flung the contents from the window—­“I won’t.  And that is the way I am able to control myself.”

She smiled, set the glass aside, and raised her eyes to the paling stars.  When at last she stretched herself out on the bed, dawn was already lighting the room, but she fell asleep at once.

It was a flushed and rather heavy slumber, not perfectly natural; and when Kathleen entered at nine o’clock, followed by Geraldine’s maid with the breakfast-tray, the girl still lay with face buried in her hair, breathing deeply and irregularly, her lashes wet with tears.

The maid retired; Kathleen bent low over the feverishly parted lips, kissed them, hesitated, drew back sharply, and cast a rapid glance around the room.  Then she went over to the dressing-table and lifted Rosalie’s antique flacon; and set it back slowly, as the girl turned her face on the pillow and opened her eyes.

“Is that you, Kathleen?”

“Yes, dear.”

For a few seconds she lay quite motionless, then, rising on one elbow, she passed the backs of her fingers across her lids, laughed sleepily, and straightened up, freeing her eyes from the confusion of her hair.

“I’ve had horrid dreams.  I’ve been crying in my sleep.  Come here,” she said, stretching out her arms, and Kathleen went slowly.

The girl pulled her head down, linking both arms around her neck: 

“You darling, can you ever guess what miracle happened to me yesterday?”

“No....  What?”

“I promised to marry Duane Mallett!”

There was no reply.  The girl clung to her excitedly, burying her face against Kathleen’s cheek, then released her with a laugh, and saw her face—­saw the sorrowful amazement in it, the pain.

“Kathleen!” she exclaimed, startled, “what is the matter?”

Mrs. Severn dropped down on the bed’s edge, her hands loosely clasped.  Geraldine’s brown eyes searched hers in hurt astonishment.

“Aren’t you glad for me, Kathleen?  What is it?  Why do you—­” And all at once she divined, and the hot colour stained her from brow to throat.  Kathleen bent forward swiftly and caught her in her arms with a smothered cry; but the girl freed herself and leaned back, breathing fast.

“Duane knows about me,” she said.  “I told him.”

“He knew before you told him, my darling.”

Another wave of scarlet swept Geraldine’s face.

“That is true....  He found out—­last April....  But he and I are not afraid.  I promised him—­” And her voice failed as the memory of the night’s indulgence flashed in her brain.

Kathleen began:  “You promised me, too—­” And her voice also failed.