Kate wrapped her old coat about her and made her solitary way to Mrs.
Dennison’s depressed Caravansary.

XII

There was no question about it.  Life was supplying Kate Barrington with a valuable amount of “data.”  On every hand the emergent or the reactionary woman offered herself for observation, although to say that Kate was able to take a detached and objective view of it would be going altogether too far.  The truth was, she threw herself into every friend’s trouble, and she counted as friends all who turned to her, or all whom she was called upon to serve.

A fortnight after Mama’s marriage, an interesting episode came Kate’s way.  Mrs. Barsaloux had introduced to the Caravansary a Mrs. Leger whom she had once met on the steamer on her way to Brindisi, and she had invited her to join her during a stay in Chicago.  Mrs. Barsaloux, however, having gone off to France in a hot fit of indignation, Mrs. Leger presented herself with a letter from Mrs. Barsaloux to Mrs. Dennison.  That hospitable woman consented to take in the somewhat enigmatic stranger.

That she was enigmatic all were quick to perceive.  She was beautiful, with a delicate, high-bred grace, and she had the manner of a woman who had been courted and flattered.  As consciously beautiful as Mary Morrison, she bore herself with more discretion.  Taste governed all that she said and did.  Her gowns, her jewels, her speech were distinguished.  She seemed by all tokens an accomplished worldling; yet it was not long before Kate discovered that it was anything but worldly matters which were consuming her attention.

She had come to Chicago for the purpose of adjusting her fortune,—­a large one, it appeared,—­and of concluding her relations with the world.  She had decided to go into a convent, and had chosen one of those numerous sisterhoods which pass their devotional days upon the bright hill-slopes without Naples.  She refrained from designating the particular sisterhood, and she permitted no discussion of her motives.  She only said that she had not been born a Catholic, but had turned to Mother Church when the other details of life ceased to interest her.  She was a widow, but she seemed to regard her estate with quiet regret merely.  If tragedy had entered her life, it must have been subsequent to widowhood.  She had a son, but it appeared that he had no great need of her.  He was in the care of his paternal grandparents, who were giving him an education.  He was soon to enter Oxford, and she felt confident that his life would be happy.  She was leaving him an abundance; she had halved her fortune and was giving her share to the convent.