ed her head toward the Red Hall, and was looking at one of the
windows there as though her eyes would pierce the distance.

"Tell me," Jeanne asked. "I have seen you once with Mr. De la Borne. He
is a great friend of yours?"

"He was," the girl at her feet whispered.

Jeanne found herself shaking. She stooped down.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

Kate looked up from the ground. She raised herself a little. For a
moment her eyes flashed.

"I mean," she said, "that before you came he was more than a friend. It
was you who drove his thoughts of me away. You with your great fortune,
and your childish, foreign ways. Oh, I talk like a fool, I know!" she
said, springing up, "but I am not a fool. I do not hate you. I have
never tried to do you any harm. It is not your fault. It is what one
calls fate. Once," she cried, "we Caynsards lived along the coast there
in a house greater than the Red Hall, and our lands were richer.
Generation after generation of us have been pushed by fortune downwards
and downwards. The men lose lands and money, and the women disgrace
themselves, or creep into some corner to die with a broken heart. I
talk to you as one of the villagers here. I know very well that I speak
the dialect of the peasants, and that my words are ill-chosen. How can
I help it? We are all paupers, every one of us. That is why sometimes I
feel that I cannot breathe. That is why I do mad things, and people
believe that I am indeed out of my mind."

She sprang to her feet. Jeanne tried to detain her.

"Let me talk to you for a little time, Kate," she begged. "You are none
of the things you fancy, and I am very sure that Mr. De la Borne does
not care for me, or for my fortune. Stay just for a minute."

But Kate was already gone. Jeanne could see her speeding down to the
harbour, and a few minutes later gliding down the creek in her little
catboat.

The Count de Brensault was angry, and he had not sufficient dignity to
hide it. The Princess, in whose boudoir he was, regarded him from her
sofa as one might look at some strange animal.

"My dear Count," she said, "it is not reasonable that you should be
angry with me. Is it my fault that I am plagued with a stepdaughter of
so extraordinary a temperament? She will return directly, or we shall
find her. I am sure of it. The wedding can be arranged then as speedily
as you wish. I give her to you. I consent to your marriage. What could
woman do more?"

"That is all ve