In spite of the well-meant efforts made by her relatives to prevent it, Mrs. Linley committed the very error which it was the most important that she should avoid.  She justified herself, instead of leaving it to events to justify her.  “Miss Westerfield comes here,” she argued, “on an errand that is beyond reproach—­an errand of mercy.  Why should you leave the house?”

“In justice to you,” Linley answered.

Mrs. Presty could restrain herself no longer.  “Drop it, Catherine!” she said in a whisper.

Catherine refused to drop it; Linley’s short and sharp reply had irritated her.  “After my experience,” she persisted, “have I no reason to trust you?”

“It is part of your experience,” he reminded her, “that I promised not to see Miss Westerfield again.”

“Own it at once!” she broke out, provoked beyond endurance; “though I may be willing to trust you—­you are afraid to trust yourself.”

Unlucky Mrs. Presty interfered again.  “Don’t listen to her, Herbert.  Keep out of harm’s way, and you keep right.”

She patted him on the shoulder, as if she had been giving good advice to a boy.  He expressed his sense of his mother-in-law’s friendly offices in language which astonished her.

“Hold your tongue!”

“Do you hear that?” Mrs. Presty asked, appealing indignantly to her daughter.

Linley took his hat.  “At what time do you expect Miss Westerfield to arrive?” he said to his wife.

She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.  “Before the half-hour strikes.  Don’t be alarmed,” she added, with an air of ironical sympathy; “you will have time to make your escape.”

He advanced to the door, and looked at her.

“One thing I beg you will remember,” he said.  “Every half-hour while I am away (I am going to the farm) you are to send and let me know how Kitty is—­and especially if Miss Westerfield justifies the experiment which the doctor has advised us to try.”

Having given those instructions he went out.

The sofa was near Mrs. Linley.  She sank on it, overpowered by the utter destruction of the hopes that she had founded on the separation of Herbert and the governess.  Sydney Westerfield was still in possession of her husband’s heart!

Her mother was surely the right person to say a word of comfort to her.  Randal made the suggestion—­with the worst possible result.  Mrs. Presty had not forgotten that she had been told—­at her age, in her position as the widow of a Cabinet Minister—­to hold her tongue.  “Your brother has insulted me,” she said to Randal.  He was weak enough to attempt to make an explanation.  “I was speaking of my brother’s wife,” he said.  “Your brother’s wife has allowed me to be insulted.”  Having received that reply, Randal could only wonder.  This woman went to church every Sunday, and kept a New Testament, bound in excellent taste, on her toilet-table!  The occasion suggested reflection on the system which produces average Christians at the present time.  Nothing more was said by Mrs. Presty; Mrs. Linley remained absorbed in her own bitter thoughts.  In silence they waited for the return of the carriage, and the appearance of the governess.