“She is thinking of the Divorce,” Mrs. Presty explained.  “You have heard of it, of course; and perhaps you take your brother’s part?”

“I do nothing of the sort, ma’am.  My brother has been in the wrong from first to last.”  He turned to Catherine.  “I will stay with you as long as I can, with the greatest pleasure,” he said earnestly and kindly.  “The truth is, I am on my way to visit some friends; and if Captain Bennydeck had got here in time to see me, I must have gone away to the junction to catch the next train westward, just as I am going now.  I had only two words to say to the Captain about a person in whom he is interested—­and I can say them in this way.”  He wrote in pencil on one of his visiting cards, and laid it on the table.  “I shall be back in London, in a week,” he resumed, “and you will tell me at what address I can find you.  In the meanwhile, I miss Kitty.  Where is she?”

Kitty was sent for.  She entered the room looking unusually quiet and subdued—­but, discovering Randal, became herself again in a moment, and jumped on his knee.

“Oh, Uncle Randal, I’m so glad to see you!” She checked herself, and looked at her mother.  “May I call him Uncle Randal?” she asked.  “Or has he changed his name, too?”

Mrs. Presty shook a warning forefinger at her granddaughter, and reminded Kitty that she had been told not to talk about names.  Randal saw the child’s look of bewilderment, and felt for her.  “She may talk as she pleases to me,” he said “but not to strangers.  She understands that, I am sure.”

Kitty laid her cheek fondly against her uncle’s cheek.  “Everything is changed,” she whispered.  “We travel about; papa has left us, and Syd has left us, and we have got a new name.  We are Norman now.  I wish I was grown up, and old enough to understand it.”

Randal tried to reconcile her to her own happy ignorance.  “You have got your dear good mother,” he said, “and you have got me, and you have got your toys—­”

“And some nice boys and girls to play with,” cried Kitty, eagerly following the new suggestion.  “They are all coming here directly to dine with me.  You will stay and have dinner too, won’t you?”

Randal promised to dine with Kitty when they met in London.  Before he left the room he pointed to his card on the table.  “Let my friend see that message,” he said, as he went out.

The moment the door had closed on him, Mrs. Presty startled her daughter by taking up the card and looking at what Randal had written on it.  “It isn’t a letter, Catherine; and you know how superior I am to common prejudices.”  With that defense of her proceeding, she coolly read the message: 

“I am sorry to say that I can tell you nothing more of your old friend’s daughter as yet.  I can only repeat that she neither needs nor deserves the help that you kindly offer to her.”

Mrs. Presty laid the card down again and owned that she wished Randal had been a little more explicit.  “Who can it be?” she wondered.  “Another young hussy gone wrong?”