In the mean time, young Mr. Ulstervelt was having troubles and disappointments of his own.  Persistent effort to make love to Miss Fowler had finally resulted in an almost peremptory command to desist.  An unlucky impulse to hold her hand during one of his attempts to “try her out” met with disaster.  Miss Fowler snatched her hand away and, with a look he never forgot, abruptly left him.  “It’s all off with her,” ruminated Freddie, shivering slightly as an after effect of the icy stare she had given him.  “She’s got it in for me, for some reason or other.  Wow!  That was a frost!  I feel it yet.  Medcroft has played the deuce helping me.  I wonder if—­ Hello!  There’s Katherine.”

Freddie did some rapid-fire thinking in the next half-minute, with the result that Constance Fowler was banished forever from his calculations and Katherine Rodney restored to her own.  So long as he could not possibly win Constance he figured that he might just as well devote himself to the girl he was virtually engaged to marry.  Freddie’s was a convenient and adaptable constancy.  Miss Fowler out of sight was also out of mind; he descended upon Katherine with all of the old ardour shining in his eyes.  It was soon after Miss Rodney’s conference with her mother, and the young lady was off for a walk in the town.

“Hello, Katherine,” called he, coming up from behind.  “Shopping?  Take me along to carry the bundles.  I want to begin now.”

It was Miss Rodney’s fancy to receive his advances with disdain.  She assumed a most unfriendly manner.

“Indeed?” with chilling irony.  “And why, may I ask?”

Freddie was taken aback.  This was most unexpected.

“Practice makes perfect,” he said glibly.  “Don’t you want me to carry ’em, Kitty?” He said it almost tearfully.

Katherine exulted inwardly.  Outwardly she was very cool and very baffling.  “Please don’t call me Kitty.  I hate it.”

“It’s a dear little name.  That’s what I’m going to call you when we are—­well, you know.”

“I don’t know.  What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come now, Miss Rodney.  Don’t be so icy.  What’s up?  Never mind—­don’t tell me.  I know.  You’re jealous of Connie.”  It was a bold stroke and it had an immediate effect.

“Jealous!” she scoffed, but her cheeks went red.  “Not I, Freddie.”  She considered for a second and then went on:  “She’s not in love with you.  You must be blind.  She’s crazy about Mr. Medcroft.”

“By Jove,” exclaimed Freddie, stopping short, his eyes bulging.  He looked at her for a minute in silence, realisation sifting into his face.  “You’re right!  She is in love with him.  I see it now.  Well, what do you think of that!  Her brother-in-law!”

“And he is in love with her too.  Now you may go back to her and see if you can’t win her away from him.  I shan’t interfere, my dear Freddie.  Don’t have me on your conscience.  Good-by.”