“Which is——?” queried Katherine mischievously.

“Which is the love she longs for,” Mrs. Burton answered, with a sentimental sigh.

Katherine broke into irrepressible laughter.  Then, when her mirth had subsided a little, she said:  “Just fancy speaking of a girl as ‘Poor Mary’ whose father has an income of five or six thousand pounds a year!”

“Still, she is poor in spite of her money if she can’t get what she wants,” Mrs. Burton said, sticking to her point.  “Money isn’t everything by a long way, and you can’t satisfy heart-hunger with dollars, or pounds either.”

“Did Mary take you into her confidence concerning this want which money can’t satisfy?” demanded Katherine, a touch of scorn in her tone and a chill feeling at her heart, as if someone had laid an icy finger upon it.

“Dear me, no!  Mary is not the sort of girl to go round howling about what she wants but can’t get,” Mrs. Burton replied.  “But I have eyes in my head, and I think a married woman sees more, and has a larger understanding of affairs of the heart, than a girl who has had no experience at all.”

“That is very probable,” Katherine said quietly, while the chill feeling grew and intensified, despite her efforts to make light of the matter.  “But what has all this to do with me?  Do you want me to approach Mr. Ferrars on the subject, and say to him that he had better make haste and satisfy the heart-hunger of the rich Miss Selincourt?”

Mrs. Burton looked absolutely shocked.  “Dear Katherine, do be serious for once if you can!” she pleaded.  “If I thought that you cared for Mr. Ferrars yourself I should never have mentioned this to you at all; but you are so plainly fancy-free that surely it won’t hurt you to stand aside and let Mary have her chance.”

“Stand aside?  How?” Katherine kept her voice steady by an effort, while her thoughts flew back to that evening when Jervis Ferrars had taken her up to Ochre Lake, and had talked to her of the struggles and hardships of his life.  She had been so happy that evening, and every day since had been like a festival.  There had been no need to put things into words:  she had known that night that Jervis Ferrars cared for her; she had been equally well assured that she cared for him, and the knowledge brought with it a rest and contentment such as she had never known before.  But if what her sister said was correct, then it might be that she was wrong, something worse than selfish even, to take this good thing which was offered to her; and the standing-aside idea would have to be very carefully considered.