It was a relief when she went into Katherine's room and saw the welcome on the quiet, delicate face that looked up from the needlework. Katherine's room, too, always cheered her. Like Katherine herself, it was different from the others. Mme. Popea's, for instance, struck one with a pervading sense of soiled dressing-gowns; Miss Bunter's was all primness, looking as if made to match the stiff wires of her canary cages. But this sunny little retreat, with all its bedroom suggestions curtained off, and cosy with piano and comfortable easy chairs and rugs, was essentially a lady's room that had assimilated some of the charm of its owner. By the time the gong went for _déjeuner_, Felicia was cheered and comforted, and she entered the dining-room, her arm around Katherine's waist, darting a rebellious glance at Frau Schultz.
The days went on uneventfully. The only incident was the return of old Mr. Chetwynd from a month's holiday in Italy, when the whole pension united to do him honour and welcome him. On the day of his arrival Felicia laid a pair of slippers she had worked for him in his room, which delighted the old man so much that he came down to the salon in the evening to offer them for general admiration. But otherwise there was no departure, no arrival all the spring. Every one sighed for the summer and fresh faces. They looked forward with the longing that chrysalises must have for butterflydom. Felicia joined in the general anticipation. She had not forgotten Raine, though he gradually grew to be but a wistful memory. But she felt convinced, with the fervid conviction of twenty, that she could never love any man again.
The whole course of her thoughts was altered on one morning in May. The hour for _dejeuner_ had been put earlier than usual, for some domestic reason, and the English post arrived during the meal. Mr. Chetwynd glanced over his envelopes, selected one, and courteously asked Katherine and Felicia permission to open it. His eyes sparkled as he read.
“I have had pleasant news,” he said radiantly, laying down the letter and addressing Mme. Boccard at the other end of the table. “My son is coming here for the first part of the Long Vacation.”
There was a general chorus of satisfaction. Tongues were set on the wag. Mme. Popea and Frau Schultz conversed with simultaneous unmodulation. Mme. Boccard explained volubly to Mr. Chetwynd the pleasure he would derive from his son's visit. But all was a distant buzz in Felicia's ears. The announcement was like an electric shock, vivifying the fading love into instant life. Her heart gave a great leap, and things swam before her eyes, causing her to close them for a second. She opened them to a revelation--Katherine's face, which was as white as paper, and Katherine's eyes fixed upon her with an almost terrified intelligence. The exchanged glance told each the other's secret. But all was so sudden that only they two knew.