The atmosphere seemed charged with Cassandra.

But, unless Katharine began the subject of her own accord, he could not even hint--he must ignore the whole affair; it was the part of a gentleman to preserve a bearing that was, as far as he could make it, the bearing of an undoubting lover.

At intervals he sighed deeply.

He talked rather more quickly than usual about the possibility that some of the operas of Mozart would be played in the summer.

He had received a notice, he said, and at once produced a pocket-book stuffed with papers, and began shuffling them in search.
He held a thick envelope between his finger and thumb, as if the notice from the opera company had become in some way inseparably attached to it.
"A letter from Cassandra ?" said Katharine, in the easiest voice in the world, looking over his shoulder.