each
other, that we have drifted apart more than ever. Pray do not turn away
with that distressed look. I am so unfortunate in being always
associated with painful ideas in your mind."

"Indeed you are not. All the good of my present life I owe to you," and
she raised her soft brown eyes, full of tender gratitude, to his. It was
a glance that might have warmed any man's heart, and Errington's answer
was:

"Come, then, and let us exchange confidences," the crowd round the door
at that moment obliging him, as it seemed to her, to hold her arm very
close to his side.

At the end of the hall, which was little more than a passage, was a door
sheltered by a large porch. The door had been removed, and the porch
turned into a charming nook, with draperies, plants, colored lamps, and
comfortable seats. Here Errington and Katherine established themselves.

"First," he began, "tell me, how do you fare at Mrs. Needham's hands? I
am glad to see that you seem quite at home; and if I may be allowed to
say it, you bear up bravely under the buffets of unkindly fortune."

"I have no right to complain," returned Katherine. "As to Mrs. Needham,
were I her younger sister she could not be kinder. I think the great
advantage of the semi-Bohemian set to which she belongs, is that among
them there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, for all are
one in our common human nature. Were I to go down into the kitchen and
cook the dinner, it would not put me at any disadvantage with my good
friend. I should have only to wash my hands and don my best frock, and
in the drawing-room I should be as much the daughter of the house as
ever."

Errington laughed. There was a happy sound in his laugh. "You describe
our kind hostess well. Such women are the salt of the social earth. And
your 'dear boys.' How and where are they?"

"Ah! that is a trial. I go down to Sandbourne the day after to-morrow,
to take them from that delightful school, and place them in a far
different establishment."

"Ha! Does Mrs. Ormonde go with you?"

"Mrs. Ormonde? Oh no. You know--" she hesitated. "Well, you see, Colonel
Ormonde is exceedingly indignant with me because I have lost my fortune,
and I fancy he does not approve of Ada's having anything to do with me.
Besides--" She paused, not liking to betray too much of the family
politics. "They have agreed to give the boys over to me."

"I know. I paid Mr. Newton a long visit the other day, and he told
me--p