“Has that man been here?” she asked.

“What man?”

“The man who may break off your marriage if he meets with the Captain.  Has Herbert Linley been here?”

“Certainly not.  The one person associated with my troubles whom I have seen to-day is Sydney Westerfield.”

Mrs. Presty bounced out of her chair.  “You—­have seen—­Sydney Westerfield?” she repeated with emphatic pauses which expressed amazement tempered by unbelief.

“Yes; I have seen her.”

“Where?”

“In the garden.”

“And spoken to her?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Presty raised her eyes to the ceiling.  Whether she expected our old friend “the recording angel” to take down the questions and answers that had just passed, or whether she was only waiting to see the hotel that held her daughter collapse under a sense of moral responsibility, it is not possible to decide.  After an awful pause, the old lady remembered that she had something more to say—­and said it.

“I make no remark, Catherine; I don’t even want to know what you and Miss Westerfield said to each other.  At the same time, as a matter of convenience to myself, I wish to ascertain whether I must leave this hotel or not.  The same house doesn’t hold that woman and ME.  Has she gone?”

“She has gone.”

Mrs. Presty looked round the room.  “And taken Kitty with her?” she asked.

“Don’t speak of Kitty!” Catherine cried in the greatest distress.  “I have had to keep the poor innocent affectionate child apart from Miss Westerfield by force.  My heart aches when I think of it.”

“I’m not surprised, Catherine.  My granddaughter has been brought up on the modern system.  Children are all little angels—­no punishments—­only gentle remonstrance—­’Don’t be naughty, dear, because you will make poor mamma unhappy.’  And then, mamma grieves over it and wonders over it, when she finds her little angel disobedient.  What a fatal system of education!  All my success in life; every quality that endeared me to your father and Mr. Presty; every social charm that has made me the idol of society, I attribute entirely to judicious correction in early life, applied freely with the open hand.  We will change the subject.  Where is dear Bennydeck?  I want to congratulate him on his approaching marriage.”  She looked hard at her daughter, and mentally added:  “He’ll live to regret it!”

Catherine knew nothing of the Captain’s movements.  “Like you,” she told her mother, “I have something to say to him, and I don’t know where he is.”

Mrs. Presty still kept her eyes fixed on her daughter.  Nobody, observing Catherine’s face, and judging also by the tone of her voice, would have supposed that she was alluding to the man whose irresistible attractions had won her.  She looked ill at ease, and she spoke sadly.

“You don’t seem to be in good spirits, my dear,” Mrs. Presty gently suggested.  “No lovers’ quarrel already, I hope?”