h Herbert Linley had bidden her farewell. On that occasion he had
referred to her proposed marriage (never to be a marriage now!) in terms
of forbearance and generosity which claimed her sincerest admiration.
It might be possible for her to show a grateful appreciation of his
conduct. Devotedly fond of his little daughter, he must have felt
acutely his long separation from her; and it was quite likely that he
might ask to see Kitty. But there was an obstacle in the way of her
willing compliance with that request, which it was impossible to think
of without remorse, and which it was imperatively necessary to remove.
Mrs. Presty would understand that she alluded to the shameful falsehood
which had led the child to suppose that her father was dead.

Strongly disapproving of the language in which her daughter had done
justice to the conduct of the divorced husband, Mrs. Presty merely
replied: "You are Kitty's mother; I leave it to you"--and returned to
her reading.

Catherine could not feel that she had deserved such an answer as this.
"Did I plan the deception?" she asked. "Did I tell the lie?"

Mrs. Presty was not in the least offended. "You are comparatively
innocent, my dear," she admitted, with an air of satirical indulgence.
"You only consented to the deception, and profited by the lie. Suppose
we own the truth? You are afraid."

Catherine owned the truth in the plainest terms:

"Yes, I _am_ afraid."

"And you leave it to me?"

"I leave it to you."

Mrs. Presty complacently closed her book. "I was quite prepared to hear
it," she said; "all the unpleasant complications since your Divorce--and
Heaven only knows how many of them have presented themselves--have
been left for me to unravel. It so happens--though I was too modest to
mention it prematurely--that I have unraveled _this_ complication. If
one only has eyes to see it, there is a way out of every difficulty
that can possibly happen." She pushed the book that she had been reading
across the table to Catherine. "Turn to page two hundred and forty," she
said. "There is the way out."

The title of the book was "Disasters at Sea"; and the page contained
the narrative of a shipwreck. On evidence apparently irresistible,
the drowning of every soul on board the lost vessel had been taken for
granted--when a remnant of the passengers and crew had been discovered
on a desert island, and had been safely restored to their friends.
Having read this record of suffer