When the rough weather of a stormy autumn obliged Katherine to keep in-doors she began to feel the monotony of existence by the sad sea waves, and to wish for the sociability of London. The end of October, then, saw Miss Payne and party re-established in Wilton Street, having left Cecil at school. With Charlie, Katherine could not part just yet. She intended to keep him till after Christmas, when he was to go to school with his brother.

Though town was empty as regarded "society," there was plenty of life and movement in the streets, and Katherine, always thankful for occupation which drew her thoughts away from her profound regret for the barrier which existed between Errington and herself, was glad to be back in the great capital. She threw herself into the scheme of establishing Rachel Trant as a "court dressmaker" most heartily, and Bertie Payne spared time from his multifarious avocations to give important assistance. Rachel herself, too, proved to be a wise counsellor, her previous training having given her some experience in business. Katherine therefore found interesting employment in looking for a small house suited to the undertaking.

Mr. Newton was writing busily in his private room one foggy afternoon when he was informed that Miss Liddell wished to speak to him.

"Show her in at once," he said, cheerfully, as if pleased, and he rose to receive her. "Glad to see you, Miss Liddell, looking all the better for your sojourn by the sea-side. Why, it must be nearly six months since I saw you."

"Yes, quite six months, Mr. Newton. I suppose you have been refreshing yourself too, after the fatigues of the season. You must try Sandbourne next year. It is a very nice little place."

"Sandbourne? I don't think I know it. But now what do you want, my dear young lady? I don't suppose you come here merely for pleasure."

"I assure you it always gives me great pleasure," said Katherine, with a sweet, sunny smile. "You have always been my very good friend."

"Well, a sincere one, at all events," returned the dry old lawyer, whose aridity was not proof against the charm of his young client.

"I must not waste your time," she resumed, drawing her chair a little nearer the table behind which he was ensconced. "I want to buy a house which I have seen, and I want you to attend to all details connected with it."

"Oh—ah! Well, a good house would not be a bad investment; it would be very convenient to have a residence in London."

"It is not for myself; it is a speculation."

"A speculation? What put that into your head?"

Whereupon Katherine told him her story.

"I think it rather a mad undertaking," was Mr. Newton's verdict. "These projects seldom succeed. I don't care for clever interesting young women who have no one belonging to them and cannot corroborate their stories. How do you know she was not dismissed from Blackie & Co.'s for theft?"

Katherine laughed. "I certainly do not know," she said, "but I feel it is quite as impossible for her to steal as it is for myself."

"Feel!—feel!" (impatiently). "Just so: impostors thrive on the good feelings of—of the simple."

"You were going to say fools," said Katherine. "Don't let us waste time, my dear Mr. Newton," she went on, with good-humored decision. "We shall never agree on such a topic; and I am going to buy this house, or another of the same kind if this proves not to be desirable; and I should be very sorry to employ any one but you to arrange the purchase."

"Oh, you know your own mind, and how to threaten—eh, Miss Liddell?" he returned, with a smile. "I must know more about the tenement before I can consent to act for you."

"It is an ordinary three-storied house, with a couple of rooms built out at the back, in a small street where there are a few shops; but it is near Westbourne Terrace, and therefore in a region of good customers. The late owner has been succeeded by a son, who seems very anxious to get rid of it. The price asked is seven hundred and fifty pounds, and I believe the taxes are under ten pounds. Do, dear Mr. Newton, look into the matter, and get it settled as soon as possible, and on the best terms you can."

"Hum! and the furniture? Do you undertake that too?"

"Of course. Don't you see, I can do it all out of the money I have not been able to use. There is quite three thousand pounds on deposit in the bank. You know you wrote to me only a month ago about letting the money lie idle. I shall employ it now, for my protegee, Miss Trant, will be my only manager. I will pay her wages, and whatever profit after comes to me."

"A very unknown quantity," said the lawyer, drily. "Still, the house can't run away, and I suppose will aways let for fifty or sixty pounds a year."

"Fifty, I think."

"Then I will look into the matter. Is it in habitable repair?"

"It seems so. Do your best to have the purchase completed as soon as possible, dear Mr. Newton. I want to start my modiste in good time to catch the home-coming people."

"Believe me, it is an unwise project," said Newton, thoughtfully.

"I know you think so, and you are right to counsel me according to your conscience; but as I am quite determined, you must not let me go to a stranger for help."

"Very well; give me the address."

"Seven Malden Street, Paddington. Bell & Co., house agents, in Harrow Road, have it on their books."

"Good! I'll get a surveyor to see to sanitary arrangements, etc. Now that, as usual, you have conquered again and again, tell me something of yourself. Are you tired of the little nephews yet?"

"No, indeed. I have been happier with them than I dared hope to be when I was left alone nearly a year ago, yet"—Her voice faltered and her soft dark eyes filled.

"Yes, yes," hastily, with a man's dread of tears; "you couldn't get over that all at once. But you know it is a very Quixotic business taking those boys; and Mrs. Ormonde is not the woman to relieve you should any difficulty arise."

"But when boys are well provided for there never can be a difficulty. Ah, Mr. Newton, what a wonderful magician money is! What would become of me without it? It is almost worth risking anything to get it."

"Or, apparently, to get rid of it," remarked Mr. Newton. "By-the-way, that was a tremendous smash of Errington's. Did you hear anything about him?"

"Yes," rather faintly.

"The reason I mention him is that, curiously enough, he was the man your uncle left everything to in that will he very fortunately destroyed. Of course I should only mention it to you: though now all is passed and gone, it is of no importance. He has behaved very well. I am told he has turned to literature. It's a pity he did not follow his profession; but it would be rather late in the day for that. I think you must find these rooms rather stuffy and warm after the sea-breezes, for you are looking pale and fagged again."

"I feel a headache coming on," said Katherine, pulling herself together. "I hope you will pay me a visit someday. I should like to show you my dear little Charlie. He has a great look of my mother, especially his eyes; they are just like hers."

"If you will allow me to come some Sunday——"

"Certainly. You will sympathise with Miss Payne. She shares your deep-rooted distrust of your fellow-creatures. Yet even she has some faint faith in Rachel Trant."

"That is the best symptom about the affair I have yet heard of. By-the-bye, this Miss Payne has made you comfortable? she has been a successful experiment?"

"Very successful indeed. I quite like her, and respect her; but I shall not stay longer than the time I agreed for. I want to make a home for the boys and myself."

"What! Will Mrs. Ormonde give them up?"

"Not avowedly, but they will ultimately glide into my hands."

"I trust you will not regret the charge you are taking on yourself."

"I do not fear failure. These children are a great source of pleasure to me."

A few more words, a promise on Mr. Newton's part to hurry matters, and Katherine, bidding him adieu for the present, descended to the brougham which she usually hired for distant expeditions. Ordering the coachman to stop at Howell& James', Katherine leaned back and reflected on the interview with Mr. Newton. No doubt he thought he had given her a good deal of curious information. If he only knew what a living lie she was! Her duplicity met her at every turn, and cried shame upon her. However, she had the pardon and permission of him against whom she had chiefly offended; that counted for much. Still, it was too hard a punishment that the ghost of her transgression should thus cry out against her, and she had done her best to rectify it. She felt profoundly depressed. It was an effort to execute the commissions intrusted to her by Miss Payne. These performed, she was leaving the shop, when a gentleman who was passing rapidly almost ran against her. He paused and raised his hat as if to apologize. It was Errington.

"Miss Liddell!" he exclaimed, a startled, pleased look animating his eyes. "I understood you were out of town. I hardly hoped to meet you again."

Katherine flushed up, and then grew white. "I have been out of town ever since—" Since what?—that turning-point in her life when she confessed all to him?

"And I have been in town," rejoined Errington. "It is not nearly so bad as some people imagine. Where are you staying?"

"Oh, I am always with Miss Payne, in Wilton Street."

"I remember. But I am keeping you standing. May I come and see you?"

"Oh no; I would rather not," cried Katherine, with an irresistible impulse which she regretted the next moment.

"You are always frank," said Errington, with a kind smile, yet in a disappointed tone. "I will not intrude, then. How are your nephews, and Mrs. Ormonde? I seem to have lost sight of every one, for I have become a very busy man."

"Yes, I know," she returned, her color going and coming, her heart beating so fast she could hardly speak. "I must seem so rude! But I have read some of your papers in The Age. It must, indeed, take time and study to produce such articles."

"And patience on the part of a young lady to wade through them."

"No; they always interest me, even when a little over my head. Though I do not want you to come and see me, I am always so glad to hear about you, to know you are well."

"Then why avoid me?"

"How can I help it?"—looking at him with dewy eyes and quivering lips.

"Well, I must accept your decision. I wish—But I will not detain you." He opened the carriage door and handed her in.

For an instant her eyes sought his with a wistful, deprecating look, then she said, "Tell him 'home,' please," and she drove off.

The encounter unhinged her for the day. Why had he crossed her path, and why had she allowed herself to reject his friendly offer to come and see her? Yet it would have made her miserable to bear the quiet scrutiny of his eyes through a whole visit. He had evidently quite forgiven her, but that could not restore her self-respect or render her less keenly alive to the silent reproach of his presence. And yet it was pleasant to hear him speak, his voice was so clear, so well modulated, so intelligent. And how well he looked!—better and brighter than she had ever seen him. It was evident that he was not breaking his heart about Lady Alice. How could she have given him up?

Though nothing was more natural or probable than that they should meet when both lived in the same town, huge as it is, it was an immense surprise to Katherine, who had somehow come to the conclusion that they were never to set eyes on each other again. This impression upset her. She was constantly on the outlook for Errington wherever she drove or walked, and the composure which she had been diligently, and with a sort of sad resignation to Errington's wishes, building up, was replaced by a feverish, restless anticipation of she knew not what.

The result was increased eagerness to see the completion of her dressmaking scheme, and she made Mr. Newton's life a burden to him till all was accomplished.

In this she found a shrewd assistant in Mrs. Needham, who took up the cause furiously, and drove hither and thither, exhorting, entreating, commanding, and really bringing in customers, somewhat to Katherine's surprise, as she did not expect much wool from so great a cry.

Shortly before Christmas Miss Trant's establishment was in full working order, a couple of clever assistants had been engaged, and Rachel herself seemed to wake up to the full energy of her nature under the spur of responsibility.

The affair was not brought to a conclusion, however, without a struggle on the part of Mr. Newton against Katherine's resolution not to appear in the matter. The house was bought in Rachel Trant's name, the sale was made to her, and Miss Liddell's name never appeared. Newton declared it to be sheer madness; even Bertie Payne considered it unwise; but Katherine was immovable.

"I am Miss Trant's creditor," she said. "If successful, she will pay me: if not, why, she will give up the house to me. I have full faith in her, and I wish her to be perfectly unshackled in the undertaking. As the owner of a house she will more readily obtain any credit she may need."

"Which means," said Mr. Newton, crossly, "that you will have to pay her debts if you ever intend to get possession of the house."

"Well, I have made up my mind to the risk," returned Katherine, with smiling determination; "so we will say no more about it."

The unexpected meeting with Errington haunted Katherine for many a day, and many a night was broken by unpleasant dreams. She was filled with regret for having so hastily refused his proffered visit. Yet had he come she would have been uneasy in his presence. She longed to see him again; she came home from driving or walking each day with aching eyes and dulled heart because she had been disappointed in encountering him. Yet she dreaded to meet him, and trembled at the idea of speaking to him. She was dismayed at the restless dissatisfaction of her own mind. Was she never to find peace? never to know real enjoyment in her ill-gotten fortune? Why was it that the image of this man was perpetually before her, the sound of his voice in her ears? Then the answer of her inner consciousness came to overwhelm her with shame and confusion: "Because you love him with all the strength and fervor of a heart that has never frittered away its force in senseless flirtations or passing fancies." This was the climax of misfortune. To know that the one of all others she most looked up to must, in spite of his kind forbearance, despise her as a cheat. Surely it was a sufficient punishment for a delicately proud woman to know that she had given her love unasked. All that remained for her was to hide her deep wounds, that by stifling the new and vivid feelings which troubled her they would die out, and so leave her in a state of monotonous repose. She would endeavor by all possible means to win forgetfulness.

When Cis came back for the Christmas holidays, therefore, he found his auntie ready to go out with Charlie and himself to circus and pantomime, Polytechnic and wax-works, to his heart's content. It was not a brisk frosty Christmas, or she would no doubt have been with them on the ice, and the round of boyish dissipations called forth an oracular sentence from Miss Payne. "It's just as well those boys are going back to school, Katherine. You are more foolish about them than you used to be, and if they staid on you would completely ruin them."

Just before the holidays were over, Mrs. Ormonde visited London, or rather paused in passing through from the distinguished Christmas gathering to which, to her pride and satisfaction, she had been invited at Lady Mary Vincent's. The little boys were indifferently glad to see her, and with the jealousy inherent in a disposition such as hers she was vexed at not being first with her own boys, yet delighted to hand over the care and trouble of them to any one who would undertake it. These mixed feelings ruffled the bright surface of her self-content, inflated as it was by her increasing social success.

She chose to put up at a quiet hotel in Dover Street rather than accept Katherine's and Miss Payne's joint invitation to Wilton Street.

"I know you will not mind, Katie dear," she said, as she sat at tea (to which refreshment she had invited her sister-in-law). "You see if it were your own house, quite your own, I should prefer staying with you to going anywhere else. As it is——"

"You are quite right to please yourself," put in Katherine.

"Yes, you are always kind and considerate. But, do you know, both Colonel Ormonde and I are very anxious you should establish yourself on a proper footing. Believe me, you do not take the social position you ought, living with an obscure old maid like Miss Payne"—this in a tone of strong common-sense. "The proper place for you is with us at Castleford in the autumn and winter, and a house in town with us in the spring. Then you and I might go abroad sometimes together, and leave Ormonde to his turnips and hunting. You would be sure to marry well—quite sure."

"But I am going to settle myself in a house of my own this spring," said Katherine, smiling.

Against this project Mrs. Ormonde exhausted herself in eloquent if contradictory argument: but finding she made no impression, suddenly changed the subject. "That is a very expensive school you have chosen for the boys, Katherine. 'Duke thinks it ridiculous. Sixty pounds a year for such a little fellow as Cis! and now Charlie will cost as much."

"It is not cheap, certainly; but it is, I think, worth the money. Cecil has improved marvellously, and Sandbourne agrees so well with them both."

"You will do as you think best, of course. We have the highest regard for your opinion. But you must remember that what with clothes and travelling and—oh, and doctors!—it all comes to more than three hundred a year, and at Castleford I could keep them for next to nothing, while the stingy trustees you have chosen only allow me four hundred and fifty."

"So you have only about a hundred and fifty out of the total for your personal expenses, eh?" said Katherine, laughing. "Then you have a husband behind you."

"Oh, I assure you that does not count for much. 'Duke doesn't care to spend money, and my having something of my own makes matters wonderfully smooth. I am sure you would not like to make any unhappiness between us."

"No, certainly not. I think it quite right, as my brother's widow, you should have something for yourself as long as you live."

"You really have a great sense of justice, Katherine, I must say! Living as you do, dear, you can form no idea what it costs to present an appearance when you are in a certain set."

"I don't suppose I ever shall, though I like nice clothes too."

"And look so well in them!" added Mrs. Ormonde, who was always ready, when she deemed it necessary, to burn the incense of flattery on her sister-in-law's shrine. "By-the-way, that is a very pretty, well-made costume you have on. I think you are slighter than you used to be."

"The effect of a good fit. I wish you would employ my dressmaker. She is very moderate."

"Is she?"

A short discussion of prices followed, and Mrs. Ormonde declared she would call on Miss Trant that very afternoon and bespeak two dresses, for all she had were quite familiar to the eyes of her associates.

"I suppose you have heard or seen nothing of De Burgh lately?" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, suddenly.

"No, not for a long time."

"He has been away—somewhere in Hungary, hunting or shooting—and then he has been staying with old Lord de Burgh. They used hardly to speak, and now he seems taken into favor. He is a curious sort of man, and he can be so insolent! How he will put his foot on people's necks when he gets the old man's title and wealth!"

"If they let him," said Katherine, quietly.

"As he is in town, I thought he might have called on you. He was always running down to that stupid place in the summer, so I——"

"Mr. De Burgh!" said a waiter, opening the door with a burst.

"Talk of an angel!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, rising to receive him with a welcoming smile. "My sister was just saying it was a long time since she had seen you."

Katherine felt annoyed at the thoughtless speech—if it was thoughtless. However, she kept a composed air, though the varying color which she never could regulate told De Burgh that she was not unmoved.

"And probably hoped it would be longer," he replied, as he shook hands with Mrs. Ormonde, but only bowed to Miss Liddell.

"Don't answer him," cried the former; "such decided fishing does not deserve success."

"I will not," said Katherine, with a kind smile. She was too thorough a woman not to have a soft corner in her heart for the man who had professed, with so convincing an air of sincerity, to love her with all his heart.

It did not, however, seem to please or displease him, for he sat down beside the tea-table with his usual unaffected ease, and addressed his conversation to Mrs. Ormonde.

"Just heard from Carew that you were in town, and I have only escaped from Pontygarvan, where I have been playing the dutiful kinsman to my immortal relative. I don't know which is most to be avoided, his enmity or his liking. He is an amusing old cynic at times, but a born despot. He only let me away to prosecute a scheme that he has taken up, and which I have gone pretty deeply into myself."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, handing him some tea. "Have you turned promoter, or—"

"Well, I am going to be my own promoter; time only will show how I'll succeed. You must both give me your best wishes."

"I am sure I do," said Mrs. Ormonde.

De Burgh raised his eyes slowly to Katherine's. She had not spoken. "Don't you wish me success? No; I thought you didn't."

"I wish you all possible happiness," she said, in a low tone.

"Have you quarrelled with Katherine, or offended her, that she is so implacable?" asked Mrs. Ormonde.

"Neither, I hope. Now what are you doing in the way of amusement? Have you seen a play since you came up? The pantomimes are still on at the big theatres. But I want you to come and see Ours at the Prince of Wales on Thursday; it's very good in parts. Then if you'll sup with me after, at my rooms, I'll get Carew and Brereton and one or two others to meet you."

"It would be very nice!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde.

"Thank you," returned Katherine. "I am, strange to say, going to a party on Thursday."

"To a party! How extraordinary! Where, Katherine?"

"To Lady Barrington's—a lady I knew in Florence, and who has invited me repeatedly."

"I am sure I am very glad you are coming out of your shell at last. Where does this Lady Barrington live?"

"In Lancaster Square, not far from my abode."

"Well, let us say Friday for Ours," said De Burgh; "for I too am going to Lady Barrington's on Thursday."

"Then why did you invite us for that evening?" cried Mrs. Ormonde.

"I could have gone afterwards. Lady Barrington's gatherings are always late."

"You really know every one."

"Oh, not every one, Mrs. Ormonde."

"Then our 'play' is not to come off unless Katherine is to be of the party"—rather pettishly.

"If you like I will take you on Thursday, and Miss Liddell (if she will allow me) on Friday."

"What nonsense! We will all go together on Friday. Katie, do you think this friend of yours would invite me? I don't care to mope here when you are out enjoying yourself."

"I am sure she would be very pleased to see you. I will write and ask her for an invitation as soon as I go home." Katherine rose as she spoke.

"Do, like a good girl; and I will go and interview this dressmaker of yours. Till to-morrow, then."

The little woman stood on tiptoe to kiss her tall sister-in-law, who left the room, followed by De Burgh.

"Haven't I been a reasonable, well-behaved fellow not to have haunted or worried you all these months? Will you let me come and tell you how wise and staid and prudent I have become?" he said.

He spoke half in jest, but there was a wonderfully appealing look in his eyes.

"I am very glad to hear it, Mr. De Burgh. I hope you will go on and prosper."

"And will you shut your doors against me if I call?"

"No; why should I?"

"Thanks! How heavenly it is to see you again! though you don't look quite as bright as you did at Sandbourne. Is this your carriage? I see you have not started a turn-out of your own yet."

"And never shall, probably."

"Not, at all events, till you have appointed your 'master of the horse.' Good-by till to-morrow night."

He handed her carefully into the brougham, and stood looking after it as she drove away.