grateful to him for the kind tact with which he concealed the
profound contempt her confession must have evoked, but no doubt that
sentiment was now in full possession of his mind. It showed in his
unhesitating, even scornful, rejection of her offered restitution. She
almost regretted having made the attempt, and yet she had a kind of
miserable satisfaction in having told the truth, the whole truth, to
Errington; anything was better than wearing false colors in his sight.

It was this sense of deception that had embittered her intercourse with
him at Castleford; otherwise she would have been gratified by his grave
friendly preference.

How calm, how unmoved, he seemed amid the wreck of his fortunes. Yes,
his was true strength--the strength of self-mastery. How different, how
far nobler than the vehemence of De Burgh's will, which was too strong
for his guidance! But Lady Alice could never have loved
Errington--never--or she would have loved on and waited for him till the
time came when union might be possible. Had _she_ been in her place! But
at the thought her heart throbbed wildly with the sudden perception that
_she_ could have loved him well, with all her soul, and rested on him,
confident in his superior wisdom and strength--a woman's ideal love. And
before this man she had been obliged to lay down her self-respect, to
confess she had cheated him basely, to resign his esteem for ever! It
was a bitter punishment, but even had she been stainless and he a free
man, she, Katherine, was not the sort of girl _he_ would like. She was
too impulsive, too much at the mercy of her emotions, too quick in
forming and expressing opinions. No; the feminine reserve and
tranquility of Lady Alice were much more likely to attract his
affections and call forth his respect. This was an additional ingredient
of bitterness, and Katherine felt herself an outcast, undeserving of
tenderness or esteem.

The weather was oppressively warm and sunless. A dim instinctive
recollection of her excuse for coming to town forced Katherine to visit
some of the shops where she was in the habit of dealing, and then she
sat for more than a weary hour in the Ladies' Room at Waterloo Station,
affecting to read a newspaper which she did not see, waiting for the
train that would take her home to the darkness and stillness in which
friendly night would hide her for a while. The journey back was a
continuation of the same tormenting dream-like semi-consciousn