there will be no more need for the deceit that is now
forced on us. Till that time comes, remember--Mrs. Presty suspects us."

Kitty ran back to them with her hands full of daisies before they could
say more.

"There is your nosegay, papa. No; I don't want you to thank me--I want
to know what present you are going to give me." Her father's mind was
preoccupied; he looked at her absently. The child's sense of her own
importance was wounded: she appealed to her governess. "Would you
believe it?" she asked. "Papa has forgotten that next Tuesday is my
birthday!"

"Very well, Kitty; I must pay the penalty of forgetting. What present
would you like to have?"

"I want a doll's perambulator."

"Ha! In my time we were satisfied with a doll."

They all three looked round. Another person had suddenly joined in the
talk. There was no mistaking the person's voice: Mrs. Presty appeared
among the trees, taking a walk in the park. Had she heard what Linley
and the governess had said to each other while Kitty was gathering
daisies?

"Quite a domestic scene!" the sly old lady remarked. "Papa, looking like
a saint in a picture, with flowers in his hand. Papa's spoiled child
always wanting something, and always getting it. And papa's governess,
so sweetly fresh and pretty that I should certainly fall in love with
her, if I had the advantage of being a man. You have no doubt remarked
Herbert--I think I hear the bell; shall we go to lunch?--you have no
doubt, I say, remarked what curiously opposite styles Catherine and Miss
Westerfield present; so charming, and yet such complete contrasts. I
wonder whether they occasionally envy each other's good looks? Does my
daughter ever regret that she is not Miss Westerfield? And do you, my
dear, some times wish you were Mrs. Linley?"

"While we are about it, let me put a third question," Linley interposed.
"Are you ever aware of it yourself, Mrs. Presty, when you are talking
nonsense?"

He was angry, and he showed it in that feeble reply. Sydney felt the
implied insult offered to her in another way. It roused her to the
exercise of self-control as nothing had roused her yet. She ignored Mrs.
Presty's irony with a composure worthy of Mrs. Presty herself. "Where is
the woman," she said, "who would _not_ wish to be as beautiful as Mrs.
Linley--and as good?"

"Thank you, my dear, for a compliment to my daughter: a sincere
compliment, no doubt. It comes in very neatly and nicely," Mrs. Presty