road? He is going up to Strathleckie, I
believe; he seems to be pausing at the gates. Oh, I hope it is a
visitor. I do like having the house full; and we have been so melancholy
since Percival went on that horrid expedition to Brazil. Who can it be?"

"What does it matter?" said Hugo. "Can you not listen to me for one
moment? Kitty--darling--wait!"

"I can't; I really can't!" said Kitty, quickening her pace
almost to a run. "Oh, Hugo--Mr. Luttrell--you must not say such
things--besides--look, it's Mr. Vivian; it really is! I haven't seen him
for two years."

And she actually ran away from him, coming face to face with her old
friend, at the Strathleckie gates.

Hugo followed sullenly. He did not like to be repulsed in that way. And
he had reasons for wishing to gain Kitty's consent to a speedy marriage.
He wanted to leave the country before the return of Percival Heron,
whose errand to South America he guessed pretty accurately, although Mr.
Colquhoun had thought fit to leave him in the dark about it. Hugo
surmised, moreover, that Dino had told Brian Luttrell the history of
Hugo's conduct to him in London: if so, Brian Luttrell was the last man
whom Hugo desired to meet. And if Brian returned to England with
Percival, the story would probably become known to the Herons; and then
how could he hope to marry Kitty? With Brian's return, too, some
alteration in Mrs. Luttrell's will might possibly be expected. The old
lady's health had lately shown signs of improvement: if she were to
recover sufficiently to indicate her wishes to her son, Hugo might find
himself deprived of all chance of Netherglen. For these reasons he was
disposed to press for a speedy conclusion to the matter.

He came up to the gates, and found Kitty engaged in an animated
conversation with Mr. Vivian; her cheeks were carnation, and her eyes
brilliant. She was laughing with rather forced vivacity as he
approached. In his opinion she had seldom appeared to more advantage;
while to Rupert's eyes she seemed to have altered for the worse.
Dangerously, insidiously pretty, she was, indeed; but a vain little
thing, no doubt; a finished coquette by the way she talked and lifted
her eyes to Hugo's handsome face; possibly even a trifle fast and
vulgar. Not the simple child of sixteen whom he had last seen in
Gower-street.

"Won't you come in, Hugo? I am sure everybody would be pleased to see
you," said poor Kitty, unconscious of being judged, as she tried t