miseration," he returned. "She seems
quite happy."

"She may be successful in hiding her feelings."

De Burgh laughed. "Tell me," he asked, "do you really think Errington is
the sort of fellow women break their hearts about?"

"I cannot tell. He seems to me very good and very nice."

"That is a goody-goody description. Well done!"--as Katherine guided
her ponies successfully through the gate of her abode and turned them
round the gravel sweep. "I must say you have a pretty little nook here."

"Had you arrived an hour sooner you would have seen Mrs. Ormonde. I have
just seen her off by the 12.30 train. She has been paying us a farewell
visit, and is gone to Lady Mary Vincent."

"Indeed! She will have her cup of pleasure running over there; they live
in a flutter of gayety all day long."

Here De Burgh sprang to the ground and assisted Katherine to alight.

"Will you lunch with us?" she asked, an additional tinge of color
mounting to her cheek; for she knew De Burgh was no favorite of Miss
Payne, who was no doubt rejoicing at the prospect of repose and
deliverance from their late guest, who generally managed to rub her
hostess the wrong way.

"You are very kind. I shall be delighted."

While Katherine went ostensibly to put aside her hat--really to warn
Miss Payne--De Burgh strolled into the drawing-room. How cool and fresh
and sweet with abundant flowers it was! An air of refined homeliness
about it, the work and books and music on the open piano, spoke of
well-occupied repose. Its simplicity was graceful, and indicated the
presence of a cultured woman.

De Burgh wandered to the window--a wide bay--and took from a table which
stood in it a cabinet photograph of Katherine, taken about a year
before. He was absorbed in contemplating it when she came in, and he
made a step to meet her. "This is very good," he said. "Where was it
taken?"

"In Florence."

"It is like"--looking intently at her, and then at the picture. "But you
are changed in some indescribable way, changed since I saw you last,
years ago--that is, a month--isn't it a month since you drove me from
paradise?--but _you_ don't remember."

"But, Mr. De Burgh, I did not drive you away. You got bored, and went
away of your own free-will."

"I shall not argue the point with you--not now; but tell me," with a
very steady gaze into her eyes, "has anything happened since I left to
waken up your soul? It was by no means asleep when I saw you last, but