“There can be no sort of doubt, Catherine, that our good friend and neighbor has heard, probably from the servants, of what has happened; and (having her husband to consider—­men are so weak!) has drawn her own conclusions.  If she trusts our fascinating governess, it’s because she knows that Miss Westerfield’s affections are left behind her in this house.  Does my explanation satisfy you?”

Mrs. Linley said:  “Never let me hear it again!”

And Mrs. Presty answered:  “How very ungrateful!”

The dreary interval of expectation, after the departure of the carriage, was brightened by a domestic event.

Thinking it possible that Mrs. Presty might know why her husband had left the house, Mrs. Linley sent to ask for information.  The message in reply informed her that Linley had received a telegram announcing Randal’s return from London.  He had gone to the railway station to meet his brother.

Before she went downstairs to welcome Randal, Mrs. Linley paused to consider her situation.  The one alternative before her was to acknowledge at the first opportunity that she had assumed the serious responsibility of sending for Sydney Westerfield.  For the first time in her life, Catherine Linley found herself planning beforehand what she would say to her husband.

A second message interrupted her, announcing that the two brothers had just arrived.  She joined them in the drawing-room.

Linley was sitting in a corner by himself.  The dreadful discovery that the child’s life (by the doctor’s confession) was in danger had completely overwhelmed him:  he had never even lifted his head when his wife opened the door.  Randal and Mrs. Presty were talking together.  The old lady’s insatiable curiosity was eager for news from London:  she wanted to know how Randal had amused himself when he was not attending to business.

He was grieving for Kitty; and he was looking sadly at his brother.  “I don’t remember,” he answered, absently.  Other women might have discovered that they had chosen their time badly.  Mrs. Presty, with the best possible intentions, remonstrated.

“Really, Randal, you must rouse yourself.  Surely you can tell us something.  Did you meet with any agreeable people, while you were away?”

“I met one person who interested me,” he said, with weary resignation.

Mrs. Presty smiled.  “A woman, of course!”

“A man,” Randal answered; “a guest like myself at a club dinner.”

“Who is he?”

“Captain Bennydeck.”

“In the army?”

“No:  formerly in the navy.”

“And you and he had a long talk together?”

Randal’s tones began to betray irritation.  “No,” he said “the Captain went away early.”

Mrs. Presty’s vigorous intellect discovered an improbability here.  “Then how came you to feel interested in him?” she objected.

Even Randal’s patience gave way.  “I can’t account for it,” he said sharply.  “I only know I took a liking to Captain Bennydeck.”  He left Mrs. Presty and sat down by his brother.  “You know I feel for you,” he said, taking Linley’s hand.  “Try to hope.”