This interesting experiment was never destined to be tried.  Right or wrong, Mrs. Presty’s theory remained the only explanation of the judge’s severity.  Mr. Sarrazin attempted to change the subject.  Mrs. Presty had not quite done with it yet.  “There is one more thing I want to say,” she proceeded.  “Will his lordship’s remarks appear in the newspapers?”

“Not a doubt of it.”

“In that case I will take care (for my daughter’s sake) that no newspapers enter the house to-morrow.  As for visitors, we needn’t be afraid of them.  Catherine is not likely to be able to leave her room; the worry of this miserable business has quite broken her down.”

The doctor returned at that moment.

Without taking the old lady’s gloomy view of his patient, he admitted that she was in a low nervous condition, and he had reason to suppose, judging by her reply to a question which he had ventured to put, that she had associations with Scotland which made a visit to that country far from agreeable to her.  His advice was that she should leave Edinburgh as soon as possible, and go South.  If the change of climate led to no improvement, she would at least be in a position to consult the best physicians in London.  In a day or two more it would be safe to remove her—­provided she was not permitted to exhaust her strength by taking long railway journeys.

Having given his advice, the doctor took leave.  Soon after he had gone, Kitty made her appearance, charged with a message from Mrs. Linley’s room.

“Hasn’t the physic sent your mother to sleep yet?” Mrs. Presty inquired.

Kitty shook her head.  “Mamma wants to go away tomorrow, and no physic will make her sleep till she has seen you, and settled about it.  That’s what she told me to say.  If I behaved in that way about my physic, I should catch it.”

Mrs. Presty left the room; watched by her granddaughter with an appearance of anxiety which it was not easy to understand.

“What’s the matter?” Mr. Sarrazin asked.  “You look very serious to-day.”

Kitty held up a warning hand.  “Grandmamma sometimes listens at doors,” she whispered; “I don’t want her to hear me.”  She waited a little longer, and then approached Mr. Sarrazin, frowning mysteriously.  “Take me up on your knee,” she said.  “There’s something wrong going on in this house.”

Mr. Sarrazin took her on his knee, and rashly asked what had gone wrong.  Kitty’s reply puzzled him.

“I go to mamma’s room every morning when I wake,” the child began.  “I get into her bed, and I give her a kiss, and I say ’Good-morning’—­and sometimes, if she isn’t in a hurry to get up, I stop in her bed, and go to sleep again.  Mamma thought I was asleep this morning.  I wasn’t asleep—­I was only quiet.  I don’t know why I was quiet.”

Mr. Sarrazin’s kindness still encouraged her.  “Well,” he said, “and what happened after that?”