“Richard, too, he will like it?  You think so, madam?”

“My dear, don’t begin to quote Richard to me.  I shall be impatient if you do.  I assure you I have never considered him a prodigy.”  Then, kissing her fondly, “Madam Katherine Hyde, my entire service to you.  Pray be sure I shall give your husband my best concern.  And now I think you can walk out of the door without much notice; there is a crowd on the street, and every one is busy about their own appearance or affairs.”

“The time, madam?  What is the hour?”

“Indeed, I think it is much after four o’clock.  Half an hour hence, you will have to bring out your excuses.  I shall wish for a little devil at your elbow to help them out.  Indeed, I am vastly troubled for you.”

“Her excuses” Katherine had not suffered herself to consider.  She could not bear to shadow the present with the future.  She had, indeed, a happy faculty of leaving her emergencies to take care of themselves; and perhaps wiser people than Katherine might, with advantage, trust less to their own planning and foresight, and more to that inscrutable power which we call chance, but which so often arranges favourably the events apparently very unfavourable.  For, at the best, foresight has but probabilities to work with; but chance, whose tools we know not, very often contradicts all our bad prophecies, and untangles untoward events far beyond our best prudence or wisdom.  And Katharine was so happy.  She was really Richard’s wife; and on that solid vantage-ground she felt able to beat off trouble, and to defend her own and his rights.

“So much better you look, Katherine,” said Madam Van Heemskirk.  “Where have you been all the day?  And did you see Mary Blankaart?  And the money, is it found yet?”

The family were at the supper-table; and Joris looked kindly at his truant daughter, and motioned to the vacant chair at his side.  She slipped into it, touching her father’s cheek as she passed; and then she answered, “At Mary Blankaart’s I was not at all, mother.”

“Where, then?”

“To Margaret Pitt’s I went first, and with Mrs. Gordon I have been all the day.  She is lodging with Mrs. Lanier, on Pearl Street.”

“Who sent you there, Katherine?”

“No one, mother.  When I passed the house, my name I heard, and Mrs. Gordon came out to me; and how could I refuse her?  Much had we to talk of.”

Batavius saw the girl’s placid face, and heard her open confession, with the greatest amazement.  He looked at Joanna, and was just going to express his opinion, when Joris rose, pushed his chair a little angrily aside, and said, “There is no blame to you, Katherine.  Very kind was Mrs. Gordon to you, and she is a pleasant woman.  For others’ faults she must not answer.  That, also, is what Elder Semple says; for when past was her anger, with a heart full of sorrow she went to him and to Madam Semple.”

“The sorrow that is too late, of what use is it?  A very pleasant woman!  Perhaps she is, but then, also, a very vain, foolish woman.  Every person of discretion says so; and if I had a daughter”—­