Lord St. John sighed.

“Well, she’ll have to stand on her own feet henceforth,” he said.

“What about the money?” demanded Eliza.  “Are you still going to allow her the same income?”

“I think not,” he answered thoughtfully.  “That was to give her freedom of choice—­freedom from matrimony if she wished.  Well, she’s chosen.  And I believe Nan will be all the better for being dependent on her husband for—­everything.  At any rate, just at first.”

Kitty looked somewhat dubious, but Mrs. McBain nodded her approval vigorously.

“That’s sound common-sense,” she said decidedly.  “More than I expected of ye, St. John.”

He smiled a little.  Then, seeing the unspoken question in Kitty’s eyes, he turned to her reassuringly.

“No need to worry, Madame Kitty.  Remember, I’m always there, if need be, with the money-bags.  My idea is that if Nan doesn’t like entire dependence on her husband, it may spur her into working at her music.  I’m always waiting for her to do something big.  And the desire for independence is a different spur—­and a better one—–­than the necessity of boiling the pot for dinner.”

“You seem to have forgotten that being a professional musician is next door to a crime in Lady Gertrude’s eyes,” observed Kitty.  “She doesn’t care for anyone to do more than ‘play a little’ in a nice, amateur, lady-like fashion!”

“Then Lady Gertrude will have to learn better,” replied St. John sharply.  Adding, with a grim smile:  “One of my wedding-presents to Nan will be a full-sized grand piano.”

So, in accordance with Eliza’s advice, everyone refrained from “playing providence” and Nan’s engagement to Roger Trenby progressed along conventional lines.  Letters of congratulation poured in upon them both, and Kitty grew unmistakably bored by the number of her friends in the neighbourhood who, impelled by curiosity concerning the future mistress of Trenby Hall, suddenly discovered that they owed a call at Mallow and that the present moment was an opportune time to pay it.

Nan herself was keyed up to a rather high pitch these days, and it was difficult for those who were watching her with the anxious eyes of friendship to gauge the extent of her happiness or otherwise.  From the moment of Mallory’s departure she had flung herself with zest into each day’s amusement behaving precisely as though she hadn’t a care in life—­playing about with Sandy, and flirting so exasperatingly with Roger that, although she wore his ring, within himself he never felt quite sure of her.

Kitty used every endeavour to get the girl to herself for half an hour, hoping she might be able to extract the truth from her.  But Nan had developed an extraordinary elusiveness and she skilfully avoided tete-a-tete talks with anyone other than Roger.  Moreover, there was that in her manner which utterly forbade even the delicate probing of a friend.  The Nan who was wont to be so frank and ingenuous—­surprisingly so at times—­seemed all at once to have retired behind an impenetrable wall of reticence.