Mrs. Burton rolled up her abundant hair, and poked in half a dozen hairpins to keep it in place.  Then she said:  “You are so much better-looking than Mary, and you have so much more charm of manner!  It is easy to see that Mr. Ferrars is attracted by you, because his eyes always follow you every time you move.  Then you saved his life at considerable risk, which, of course, is tremendously in your favour, or would be, if you cared about him.  But if you don’t really want to marry him it would be kind to stand back and let Mary have a chance.  Of course it would be an immense advantage to Mr. Ferrars to marry Mr. Selincourt’s daughter, for I fancy he is very poor, although he is such a cultured gentleman; and money does make a great deal of difference in the comfort of one’s daily life.”

“Indeed it does, my wise, practical sister.  Really, your argument is not half bad, and is well worth my best consideration, which it shall have,” said Katherine; then giving her sister a good-night kiss, she dived into bed and promptly went to sleep, or at least pretended to do so, which was the same thing in its effect on Mrs. Burton, who soon went to sleep herself.

In reality there was little rest for Katherine that night, for she was faced by a problem that had never even occurred to her before.  If she followed the desire of her own heart, she stood in the way of two people.  True, she might make Jervis Ferrars happy with her love, more especially as she was quite sure that he cared for her.  But would there ever come a time when he might be tempted to wish for more worldly advantages, and to long for the power that money brings?  Lying there in the twilight of the northern summer night, which was never in that month quite dark, Katherine faced the future with a steady, single-hearted desire to do the right thing at all costs.  She felt herself doubly bound.  Her own love for Jervis made her hesitate about allowing him to bind himself to a life of poverty, or at least a life of continuous struggle, such as marriage with a portionless wife must bring.

But Jervis was only one consideration.  There was Mary also to be thought of.  And then it flashed upon Katherine that Mary had even more claim upon her than Jervis.  Ever since ’Duke Radford had been stricken down, robbed of memory, of understanding, and the power to think and act for himself, Katherine had carried her father’s sin as if it were a wrongdoing of her own.  He had implored her to expiate it if she could.  But how could she?  Even the saving grace of confession was denied to her, for she could not go to Mr. Selincourt and say:  “My father did you a bitter wrong many years ago; please forgive him, and say no more about it!”

It was true that she and Phil had saved the rich man’s life by pulling him out of the muskeg, but there had been little personal risk for herself in the matter, although it had been very hard work, and there were scars on her hands still where the ropes had cut into the skin.  Hard work was not self-sacrifice, however, and as Katherine understood things it was only by self-sacrifice that she could expiate her father’s sin, if indeed it ever could be expiated.